Fifty Miles Uphill Both Ways
by Noxbait
Summary: Life isn't easy and, for the Winchesters, it's always been an uphill struggle. Good times or bad, one thing never changed: they were brothers. Everyone and everything that had ever attempted to change that had failed. And always would. A collection of 50 varied short(ish) stories of the Winchester Brothers through the years. **Chapter 17 now posted**
1. Chapter 1: Guess Who

_Hello! So I recently realized my next story posting would be my 50th story! I wanted to do something special and this story is the result. This is a collection of fifty random one-shots. Each chapter will be a different story. I have stories that take place in each season and some that are pre-series. There is no particular order to the stories because I'm just not that organized haha. But I'll try to give an indication of what episode the story connects to, or which season it's set in. Some of the chapters are humorous, some are sad, some are a mixture of both but every single one of them is filled with brotherly love (or brotherly annoyance and squabbling as the case may be)._

 _Hope you will enjoy! :)_

* * *

 _Chapter One: Guess Who_

 _Setting: Mid to Late Season One_

* * *

"Uh...do you have glasses?"

"Nope." Dean popped the _p_ on the word, then grinned. He looked at his game board, then back at his brother and asked, "Are you a hot blonde?"

"Define hot."

Rolling his eyes, Dean said, "Are you a blonde _chick_?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's two questions. You only get one per turn."

"Fine. Are you blonde?"

"Nope." Sam popped the _p_.

Dean glared at him and knocked down all the blondes on his board. He reached for the bag of M&Ms knowing it was going to take Sam forever to scientifically determine the best way to narrow down the suspects.

"Don't eat all of those," Sam said without looking up.

"Dude, I bought-"

"No, you didn't. You bought the _peanut_ M&Ms. Those are the ones I bought so lay off." Sam leaned forward and yanked the bag out of Dean's hand. "Do you have a mustache?"

"Nope." Mouth full, Dean chomped on the candy, then asked, "Are you a chick?"

"Nope."

"Really?" Dean grinned. "Could've fooled me."

Sam frowned, staring down at the game board, obviously a bit slow on the uptake. Dean started laughing and Sam glared at him, bouncing an M&M off his forehead. Grabbing it before it hit the floor, Dean threw it into his mouth triumphantly.

"Haha," Sam remarked dryly. "You're hysterical."

One of the washing machines buzzed before Dean could respond.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"You do it."

Dean scoffed. "Why me?"

"Because I loaded-"

"You loaded one machine and I-"

" _Over-_ loaded the other machine," Sam interrupted, gleefully settled on his high horse.

He, of course, had unloaded the machine and carefully divided their clothes into _four_ machines.

"It wouldn't have been overloaded if you wore normal sized pants," Dean griped, staring at his board and trying to come up with his next question. "You're such a freakin' giant that one pair of jeans takes up twice as much space in the washing machine."

"You're beatin' a dead horse, man. You got the short end of the genetic stick and you've never forgiven me."

"If there was such a thing as a genetic stick," Dean said mildly, "I'd beat your ass with it."

Sam laughed, then said, "You're still unloading the washing machine."

"I'll unload if you win. If I win, _you're_ unloading."

"Deal." Sam nodded. He glanced at his board, then asked, "Are you Anita?"

"Damn it!" Dean slammed all the tiles down.

Sam smiled smugly and threw a handful of candy into his mouth.

"Fine." Dean huffed, jumping off the washing machine. "But you're coming, too. I don't trust you not to cheat."

"Cheat? What are you talking about? We just ended a game-"

"And I don't put it past you to...I dunno...rearrange the tiles or something to give you an advantage." Dean waved his fingers at the game. "You always cheated as a kid."

"I did not! You just don't like the fact I'm better at playing _Guess Who_ than you are."

Dean grinned. "Yes, Sammy, I'm jealous that you can beat me at a _kid's_ game."

"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes, but nevertheless slid off the top of the washing machine he'd been sitting on and dutifully followed Dean across the aisle to the machine they were using.

He didn't help, of course. Just stood there stuffing his face with candy and watching as Dean pulled out their load of light colored clothes and threw them into a dryer.

"We could have just thrown everything into two loads, you know," Dean grumbled, throwing a t-shirt at Sam's face.

"And if we had, our clothes wouldn't be as clean," Sam remarked, tossing the t-shirt into the dryer, "our t-shirts would be grey, and-"

"And we would have saved like twenty bucks." Dean slammed the dryer closed and fed the machine a ridiculous amount of quarters. "What we could've done in _two_ loads, we're doing in four. _Four_ washing machines. And _four_ dryers."

"Yes. I can count."

"Good. Because you're going to be counting out your savings to pay me back for this."

Sam held up his hands. "Hey. You're the one who bet laundry duty for the month away on a game of pool."

Dean glared at him as he started the machine. He was going to have to keep this in mind for the future. Because apparently college had been a good opportunity for Sam to up his game when it came to pool. Maybe betting against him wasn't going to be the best plan these days.

"You do know I didn't even have to come," Sam said, hopping back onto his washing machine as Dean started transferring their second load into a dryer. "I could be at the motel right now. Sleeping."

"So, what? You came to provide moral support?" Dean teased, knowing full well Sam had come along because he was sleeping for shit these days. Any excuse not to sleep, he welcomed with open arms.

"No." Sam shook his head. "I came to make sure you did it right."

"Dude, I've been doing our laundry before you could even walk."

"Really?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "You were doing our laundry at _five_?"

"Well. Uh...I might have folded a shirt or something."

Sam busted out laughing and Dean had to turn away and hide his smile behind an armful of jeans.

It was the middle of the night, two forty-five to be exact.

They'd been out till midnight working a haunting and then spent an hour decompressing on the hood of the Impala with their last bottle of beer shared between them. They'd stopped at a convenience store on the way back to the motel to restock their supply of alcohol and candy. Then, still too wired to sleep, Dean had decided to bundle up every stitch of clothing they owned - clothing that had gone without a wash for far longer than either of them were ever going to admit - and found the nearest twenty-four hour laundromat. He hadn't been too surprised when Sam had decided to come along.

So he'd suffered through Sam bossing him around regarding which item of their clothing went into which load, how much detergent to use, how not to overload the washing machines and generally just being a pain in the ass.

And then he'd stared, slack-jawed, as Sam had stripped down to his boxers and threw everything else he'd been wearing into the appropriate washing machines. Sam had shrugged at his disbelieving expression and said they might as well wash everything. Since he was right, Dean shucked out of his clothes and hoped they wouldn't get arrested for public indecency.

Since then, they'd been sitting on opposite washing machines, in nothing but their boxers, battling it out with the only distraction in the place: a beat-up game of _Guess Who._

The last washing machine beeped and Dean just sighed and went to switch the load to a dryer.

"What do you think normal brothers do on Saturday nights?" Sam asked out of the blue.

"I don't know." Dean straightened and shrugged. "You tell me. You're the one who was livin' the _normal_ life."

He didn't get a response and Dean wished he'd left well enough alone. Bringing up Stanford was a sticky, painful, risky move on a good day. And there weren't a lot of those. He finished loading the dryer, switched it on, and turned around.

Sam was sitting on the washing machine, flipping tiles up and down on his game board. He looked pensive, but not upset. Since Dean couldn't read his mind to figure out what Sam was thinking, he just pulled out two more beers from the cooler and hopped back onto his own washing machine.

Accepting the bottle held out for him, Sam said, "You know, except for digging up the grave, I guess we're pretty normal."

Dean snorted, resetting his board. "I don't think most brothers sit around doing their laundry in their underwear."

"Maybe not. But they don't hunt ghosts, either."

"Uh...back to _not normal_ ," Dean pointed out.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe there's no such thing as _normal."_

"Gettin' existential, there bro."

"They do say _normal's just a setting on the dryer._ "

Dean almost spit beer all over his brother. "Who? Who says that?"

"Dunno."

"Sounds like something you read in a _Reader's Digest."_

Sam smiled and nodded at the game. "You up for a rematch, shorty?"

" _Excuse me_?" Dean shook his head. "I am _not_ short."

"Whatever you say." Sam shrugged innocently. "We gonna play or what?"

"Fine."

"Next month's laundry."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Whoever loses does the laundry next month."

"Deal." Dean grinned and they tapped their beer bottles together. "You won last round, you get first guess."

Sam studied the board for a long time, then asked, "Are you Alfred?"

"Damn it!"

* * *

 _This story was based on a quote I'd seen by Jensen (I'm not sure when he said it), but it was something to the effect of they needed to do an episode where the brothers were doing laundry and sitting around in their boxers playing poker. I tried looking for it so I could be a little more accurate with my reference but of course couldn't find it. :) Anyway! That's where this story got its inspiration._

 _In addition to this story, I have quite a few other stories I'll be posting over the next few weeks, so hope you'll enjoy!_

 _Thanks for reading! :)_


	2. Chapter 2: Ick

**Happy Monday! (if there is such a thing as a happy monday lol).**

 **Thank you all for the lovely, encouraging reviews to chapter one! I'm very excited about this story and I hope you'll all enjoy the second installment!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Two: Ick_**

 _Setting: Any Season_

* * *

"You have _no_ idea how happy I am to see you."

Sam had to admit, his brother _did_ look pretty darn happy. He was lying in the dirt, hands and ankles bound and securely fastened to a metal beam. His wrists were rubbed raw in an obvious - yet futile - attempt to break free. Filthy and exhausted, he had two black eyes and was grinning like he'd won the lottery.

"I'd hug you right now but you're covered in... _stuff_ ," Dean said, wrinkling his nose. He nodded to his tied wrists and added, "I'm also a bit tied up at the moment."

" _Stuff_ is a nice euphemism for blood, gore, and guts."

"Just tell me you got it."

"I got it."

It had also gotten _him_ , but Sam wasn't in any hurry to admit that to his brother.

Dean's smile vanished and the worry shone bright in his eyes as he shouted, "Do you know how pissed I am at you right now?"

"I'm beginning to understand." Sam sighed, wobbling a little as he moved closer to his brother. "Could you hold off on verbally berating me for saving your life until I get you untied?"

"You can get cracking at sawing through these ropes _while_ I verbally berate you." Dean fisted his hands and yanked against his bonds. "Multitask because I am going to do more than verbally berate you once you get me free. What the hell were you thinking? I want to kick your ass!"

"I thought you were glad to see me," Sam said, tiredly.

He put a hand against the wall when his balance started to give out. Fumbling with his right hand, he grabbed his knife. For a moment, all he could do was stand there. He squeezed his eyes closed when the room tilted and a warm rush swept over him.

"How bad did it get you?" Dean's voice was quiet, gentle.

Sam smiled, but didn't open his eyes. "Not too bad."

"Bad enough you look like you're gonna puke on me and then fall on me. I'd prefer you did neither."

"Shut up or I'll do both and then leave you here."

Dean snorted. "You're not going to be able to find your way to the Impala with your eyes closed."

Brandishing the knife, Sam said, "If you're nice, I'll open them before I cut one of your fingers off."

The room filled with a nice, steady hum. It probably wasn't a good sign.

"Sam?" Dean's voice filtered in over the hum.

"Hm?"

"Can you sit down? Nice and slow. Sit down next to me."

It annoyed him to be bossed around like a wayward kindergartener, but given the fact he could barely stand up, he figured Dean might have a point.

"Just put your back against the wall...right, like that. Ok...hey, hey!" Dean urged. "Slower. Dude, you're gonna….well, ok. I guess that worked."

It worked, in theory, but it also _hurt._ He'd collapsed more than sat and the landing had jarred him all the way up his spine to his skull. Eyes still closed, he let his head fall backwards against the wall while he tried to control his breathing and determine if he was still conscious or if he was dreaming.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before he heard his brother's voice fading in and out like a radio station getting lost in the distance.

"Sammy? Come on, don't do this…"

Sam took a slow, deep breath and forced his eyes open.

"Thank you! Ok, ok, stay with me. You need to get my hands free and then I can take over, ok? Just stay with me."

"I'm here." Sam squinted, trying to see past the black dots.

"Good. I need you to cut me free and then I'll get you outta here and see how much damage I'm gonna have to repair."

Sam didn't comment. For one thing, he had no clue what Dean was talking about. For another, he was having too much trouble staying conscious to say anything. All he could do was follow the simple directions his brother gave him. As muddled as he was, he managed to cut through the ropes around Dean's wrists without slicing him.

As soon as the ropes fell free, Dean was reaching for him.

The knife was pulled from Sam's numb fingertips and gentle hands were pushing him down onto the cold, hard floor. He would have protested, but everything hurt too much and being flat on his back was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Closing his eyes, he relaxed as Dean assessed his injuries.

"Ugh."

Sam heard a wet slap as Dean shook something off his hand.

"You're covered in guts...and slime...and, oh for the love of….what the heck is that?"

Another wet slap and Sam smiled picturing the disgusted expression on his brother's face as he attempted to get past the monster-goo to see what kind of injuries the goo was hiding. Sam honestly didn't know how badly he was hurt. The fight had been brutal and no holds barred.

Considering he'd spent the better part of forty-eight hours searching non-stop for his brother, he figured he deserved a pass for not quite paying attention to whatever the three hundred pounds worth of monster had done to him.

"Hey."

A gentle slap to his cheek.

"Stay awake. I'm not peeling monster _ick_ off you just to have you die on me."

"Did you just say ick?" Sam asked, unable to speak louder than a whisper.

"Yes I did. There is no other word to describe...ugh! Oh...uh…" Dean's voice trailed off as he started gagging. It took him a moment to regain his composure, then he said, "The fact I'm going to let you sit in my car despite being covered in the most disgusting _ick_ I've ever had the misfortune to encounter should tell you how much I hate doing all the boring stuff you're so good at. If it wasn't for your usefulness as an encyclopedia of weirdness, I'd leave you right here."

Sam smiled, drifting on the edge of awareness.

"Sammy?"

"Hm?"

"Try to stay awake."

"This 's all your fault," Sam mumbled, his words running together.

"How's it _my_ fault?" Dean spat the words out in indignation, but he was gentle as he worked to patch up whatever injuries Sam had received.

"You're the one who got kidnapped by a swamp monster." Sam smiled, forcing his eyes open.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I did _not_ get kidnapped."

"Oh, so you went willingly?"

"It didn't look like-" Dean waved his blood and gore covered hands at Sam's chest. "It didn't look like _ick_ at the time."

"A shapeshifter. That wasn't in the lore. Interesting."

"It's not interesting, it's disgusting. And it was a heck of a lot bigger than a shapeshifter...when it shifted into," Dean shook his hands at his sides, throwing gore everywhere, "whatever this was."

Sam closed his eyes and asked, "So what did it look like? Before it looked like this."

"It looked like...like a…"

"Like a?" Sam prompted, one eye open. Dean looked a little embarrassed and Sam's eyes widened as realization dawned. "Was it a hot woman?"

Dean glared at him before returning his attention to Sam's injuries.

"It was!"

"Why don't you go back to being quiet and barely conscious?" Dean muttered, finishing up whatever he was doing.

Everything hurt but nothing was too bad and whatever Dean was doing wasn't making things any worse so Sam couldn't complain. Which meant going back to being quiet and barely conscious wasn't going to happen. Not when he had a prime opportunity to make fun of his brother.

"Would you rather I'd left you with your girlfriend than to come and rescue you? I could've saved myself the goo and ick."

Dean's lips turned up in a brief smile, but his eyes were filled with concern as he said, "Hearing you bust in and take that thing on was impressive. Even if you are covered in goo."

"Are you almost done?"

"In a hurry?"

"Yes, actually. Remember that part about being covered in goo and ick? I'd like to take a shower."

"Give me a minute. Still gotta get my legs free since you did a half-assed job of rescuing me," Dean muttered, sawing through the rope. Then he was free, an arm winding around Sam's shoulders and pulling him to a sitting position.

The world went a little hazy, then filtered back into focus. When the world stopped spinning, Sam patted Dean's chest and started preparing to stand.

"You're not the only one who wants to take a shower, you know," Dean commented as he hauled him to his feet. "I'm covered in _ick_ because of the first aid I'm providing to your injured body."

"Ick that _I_ got covered in when I came to save _your_ body."

Dean snorted and started dragging him to the car.

Sam smiled. As far as he was concerned, he'd won the argument.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! these are SO much fun to write. :D They're giving me practice on writing shorter fics...although I already have two that were intended for this series that grew too long and will be posted on their own haha.**

 **I have some S13 tags that will be coming up in the near future, too. I'm possibly going to post one later this week, but we'll see how life goes. :)**

 **Hope you all have a great week!**


	3. Chapter 3: Thank You

**A tiny drabble. Maybe my shortest short story ever? Hope you enjoy this tiny little moment in the boys lives.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Three: Thank You_**

 _Setting: late Season 12_

* * *

"Thank you."

Dean looked up from his burger. Chewing, he frowned at Sam and tried to figure out what Sam was thanking him for.

When he couldn't think of anything, he asked, "For what?"

Sam smiled. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he walked by and said, "Just...thank you."

It was such a pure statement and Dean honestly didn't have a clue what Sam meant. Maybe he was saying thank you for the bag of lettuce Dean had picked up for him yesterday. Or maybe it was a thank you for having his back on the last hunt. It could have been for handing him the book he'd asked for an hour ago. Could have been for anything or nothing.

Shrugging, Dean called out, "You're welcome."

* * *

 **I'll be posting a S13 tag on Monday morning! Thanks for reading and have a great weekend. :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Lizard

**Happy Monday! Hope you all had a good weekend. It's been super hot where I am and giving me lots of time to hide in the AC and write. :D Finished another future chapter to this story on Saturday.**

 **Hope you will enjoy this little bit of humor to get your week started! :)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Four: Lizard. It's what's for dinner._**

 _Setting: Season Thirteen, during "Wayward Sisters"_

* * *

Dean started in with the _Jurassic Park_ references about thirty seconds after they realized the weird ditches they kept walking around were giant footprints.

"You do know this is bad, right?" Sam asked, after yet another movie reference.

"Yes, Sam, I know this is bad. There are dinosaurs here. _Dinosaurs._ "

Struggling over a rotted log, Sam nodded. "Exactly."

Dean climbed up onto a moss-covered rock and grinned. "But it's also _awesome!_ "

Sam groaned.

It was awesome even when they wound up being devoured by a pack of freakishly large mosquitos because, _Sammy, we might see a Tyrannosaurus_!

It was awesome even when he fell in the shallow creek because, _Sammy, no one else alive has_ ever _seen a real dinosaur!_

It was awesome even when twelve hours of aimless walking had passed because, _Sammy, we could hunt a Velociraptor!_

It was awesome right up until Dean stepped up to his knee in dino poop.

Sam hadn't been able to hold back his laughter until Dean had kicked some poop his way, splattering it on his jeans.

They hadn't spoken to each other for the next hour and a half.

Now, though, Dean was hungry and apparently that took precedence over his irritation.

"Look, man, I need to eat," he griped, swatting branches away from his head. "We've been walking for hours."

"Hadn't noticed."

"I'm hungry."

"Hadn't noticed."

"We have to find food."

"Find us a _Biggersons_ and dinner's on me." Sam received a smack on the back of the head for that comment. He stopped walking and threw his arms wide. "What do you want me to do? We have no idea where we are. There's probably no civilization. So we're gonna have to start guessing on the vegetation or resort to cannibalism."

Dean snorted and turned around. He was fighting a smile as he said, "Cannibalism? Really? That's our second step from berries and grass?"

Sam shrugged.

Rolling his eyes and huffing, Dean put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area. After a minute he said, "We could try catching something."

It wasn't the first time he'd suggested it.

"Dean, we have no idea what kind of diseases these animals could be carrying," Sam argued back, also not for the first time. "Let's keep going. We're not gonna starve in a day."

"Speak for yourself." Dean shook his head, but started moving again. "Fine. But we're going to need some sleep at least. We've been on our feet for hours. We haven't even seen a single dinosaur yet."

The last statement was mumbled and petulant and made Sam smile despite the overall misery of their situation. He didn't point out that it was probably a _good_ thing they hadn't seen a single dinosaur.

* * *

"You lecture me about weird dinosaur diseases," Dean said the next morning, standing a fair distance away. "But you never thought to consider the _plant_ life might be poisonous?"

"I _did_ consider it." Sam sucked in an unsteady breath, one hand braced against a tree, the other pressed against his stomach. "But _somebody_ wouldn't shut up about how hungry he is so I took a chance."

Dean shook his head, arms folded across his chest. "So you tried the _purple_ berries? Purple isn't a color for food."

"Eggplant is purple."

"You are so weird."

Sam wiped his hand over his mouth and straightened. "Besides, the berries aren't poisonous. They just tasted awful."

"Awful?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you just spent the last ten minutes hurling your guts up. They must have tasted more than awful."

"Yes, they did." Sam nodded, moving away from the purple berry bush. "Can we go now?"

"I dunno. You sure you don't wanna try those orange ones over there."

"I'm sure."

Dean shrugged and pushed past him.

Sam glared at him. "Why are you always in the lead?"

"Because I know where I'm going."

"Oh really?" Sam held his arms out. "Where would that be?"

"In search of food, the door home, and higher ground."

"Uh huh. Looks like you're a great big success." Sam elbowed past him. "My turn."

Dean snorted and elbowed his way to the lead again. "This isn't a game, Sammy. We don't take turns."

"You've been leading us in circles!" Sam shouted, frustration finally breaking free.

"I have not."

And, ok, so Sam couldn't really _prove_ Dean had been leading them in circles, but it sure seemed like it. Blowing out a frustrated breath, Sam asked, "How do you even know where you're going?"

"Because I'm the oldest."

"That is the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard!"

"Wow." Dean turned, a shocked expression on his face. "You're tense."

Sam almost punched him but was interrupted by a sound that was straight from _Jurassic Park._ They both fell silent and took a step closer to each other for all the good it would do them if a dinosaur decided to step on them. At least they'd go out together, Sam mused morbidly.

"Sounds like a brachiosaurus," Dean whispered. "They're herbivores. It's not gonna eat us."

"I'm more worried about it _stepping_ on us," Sam whispered back, pulling on Dean's arm until he moved closer to a group of boulders.

Dean looked at him and said, "You've been worrying about that this whole time. What is it with you and this fear of getting stepped on?"

"I also have a fear of being _eaten,_ " Sam stressed, keeping his eyes on the surrounding area.

"They're _herbivores._ That means they don't eat meat."

"I know that!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean said, suddenly stopping right in front of Sam and narrowing his eyes. "It's because they're actually _taller_ than you are, isn't it?"

"What?" Sam shook his head. "That's stupid."

"Ha!" Dean grinned. "Now you know how the rest of the world feels!'

Sam glared at him. "I don't go around stepping on people, although if I did, I'd step on you first."

"You just don't know what to do with yourself having something taller around."

"You are enjoying this too much," Sam gumbled, shoving his brother aside. "Come on. We need to get away from here-"

"Shh!" Dean slapped his arm as they heard the dinosaurs again.

Sam kept his voice softer as he hissed, "You know, we don't know if anything is the same here. Maybe here the brontosauruses eat people."

"Brachiosaurus."

"Whatever!"

The dinosaur made another sound and they both pressed back against the rocks even though they couldn't see anything except trees.

"Come on," Dean whispered, patting Sam on the back. He started climbing up the rocks.

Sam followed him even though he knew Dean just wanted to see the dinosaurs and wasn't climbing the rocks because he thought it would be safer. They crawled forward, then settled flat on their stomachs and stared out over a wide valley.

Despite everything, Sam's jaw dropped.

It was like they were watching _Jurassic Park_ come to life in front of their eyes. Dinosaurs of every shape and size were scattered across the valley. There were some that looked familiar and some that didn't look like anything they'd ever seen before. Sam stared at the scene in awe.

At his left side, Dean was slapping his arm and making the same choked off noises of glee he'd made as a twelve year old the one summer Dad had taken them to a local carnival. Sam glanced at him and couldn't help but smile. The sight of his brother looking so damn happy was even more fantastic than a field full of dinosaurs.

* * *

A day later, neither of them were happy.

They were soaked from the second torrential downpour in the past ten hours; sore from hiking non-stop; tired because it was difficult to sleep when you didn't know what might eat you while you weren't paying attention; frustrated from not having a clue where they needed to go or how to get there.

And they were hungry.

 _Really hungry._

This time they'd spent a good three hours not speaking to each other after an argument over whose fault it was that neither of them had packed even a granola bar. Sam had been wary of trying any more berries and by now Dean was in a bleak mood.

He'd been trying to conserve their limited supply of ammo, so he'd been hesitant to waste a bullet unless absolutely necessary. Besides, they hadn't seen a lot of wildlife except for the dinosaurs that would need a whole lot more ammo than they had to bring them down.

At least so far the water hadn't killed them, Sam thought, trying to be positive. And they'd been staying fairly close to the river as a means of keeping track of where they were so they were getting plenty to drink.

He glanced over at his brother. Dean was flat on his back in the grass, arms behind his head as he stared down at the river. They were in a clearing, trying to dry out in what little sun there was. They'd been resting here for close to an hour but he'd been too tense to settle back in the grass.

Thirty minutes later, though, Sam gave in. It wasn't easy to let his guard down even for a minute, but he was beat. Flopping back on the grass, he rested his arm over his eyes tried to relax.

They had been focused on two things and two things only.

Survival and finding a way home.

Everything else, including worrying about Jack and Kaia, had more or less been usurped simply by the fight to stay alive. But they'd been here over two days now and were no closer to a solution than they had been initially. And the only thing he could do for Jack and Kaia _was_ worry.

So he did.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Dean moving until he was smacked in the leg. Opening his eyes, he glared at his brother, then sat up, instantly alert. Dean had a finger to his lips and was staring at the edge of the river with a hunter's intensity. Sam reached for his gun and followed Dean's gaze.

Nothing.

After waiting a minute, Sam whispered, "What?"

"Dinner."

Hoping he meant dinner _for_ them and not that they were about to _become_ dinner, Sam tried to locate whatever his brother had seen.

"Stay here," Dean said, getting to his feet.

"What?"

"Be right back." Dean grinned, brandishing the angel blade.

"Dean!" Sam whispered as loudly as he could.

Dean ignored him, of course. Cursing under his breath, Sam followed him at a short distance. He didn't want to hamper his brother's efforts, but he sure as hell was going to watch his back. Crouching behind an outcropping of rocks, Sam watched Dean stealthily creeping along the tall grasses along the river's edge.

His heart was in his throat because who knew what might be in the water behind those grasses? So far, they hadn't come across anything resembling a crocodile or alligator but there was probably _some_ kind of creature in the river. He inched forward as Dean paused, the angel blade raised in preparation for a strike.

Holding his breath, Sam watched Dean dart forward. He was quick and efficient and whatever he'd gone up against had obviously lost because Dean stood up, grinning.

"Dinner's served!"

Eyebrows raised, Sam hurried over to his side. "What did you-"

"Check it out!" Dean crouched down next to…

"Is that a _lizard_?" Sam asked, taking a half step backward.

"Yes it is," Dean said, grinning and picking up the creature. "Go find some wood, we are cookin' out tonight!"

"I'm not eating that." Sam shook his head.

"I'll find you some purple eggplant berries for dessert."

"Funny."

Dean laughed. "Come on, Sammy. Live dangerously!"

"Live dangerously?" Sam snorted as they headed back to the treeline. "I'm in a world with freakin' dinosaurs. How much more dangerously can I possibly live?"

"Look, man," Dean said, hefting the lizard. "I'm hungry and cold and tired and wet and lost in _Jurassic Park._ I got no idea how we're gonna get outta here and I stepped in dinosaur poop yesterday."

"So?"

"So give me a break," Dean all but whined. "I just hunted a lizard for you."

This time Sam couldn't hold back his laughter.

"Lizard." Dean grinned. "It's what's for dinner."

"I'm still not eating it."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Dude, I am nowhere near hungry enough to eat a lizard."

"Well, go gather some sticks for a fire." Dean waved his hand. "Work up an appetite."

Sam shook his head, but went to find some sticks because his brother was hungry and had just hunted a lizard. They really, _really_ needed to get out of here soon. He did not _ever_ want to be hungry enough to eat a lizard.

Ever.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed! This one was SO much fun to write. I wrote it about a week before I got to go see the latest _Jurassic Park_ movie. Love those movies! And so funny to imagine the boys being stuck in a world with dinosaurs! :)**

 **Next up: a stand-alone season 12 tag for next Monday.**

 **Have a great week!**


	5. Chapter 5: Why

**Good morning! Something more serious this morning. It can't all be fun and games...**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Five: Why_**

 _Setting:_ Late Season Eight, shortly after the second trial

* * *

"Your brother is dying."

"I know," Dean said.

The doctor's expression was sympathetic and Dean hated it. Hated that they were in a hospital. Hated that he knew the doctor was right. Hated that Sam was sick - was dying - and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Are you aware-"

"I'm aware of everything," Dean cut him off. He didn't want to rehash it. There was no real answer, no true medical reason for what was happening to Sam. "I don't want to talk about it."

The doctor nodded. He cleared his throat and tugged on his lab coat. "There are counselors if-"

"I don't want to talk to anyone."

For a moment, they were silent. Dean's hands were clenched in fists and his jaw ached. He and the doctor stared at each other and there was so much true understanding in the doctor's eyes that Dean wanted to look away.

"If you ever change your mind, don't be afraid to ask for help," the doctor said, offering a small smile. "I did."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"My wife died five years ago. Took me a long time to look for support. Don't wait too long."

The doctor patted him on the shoulder as he walked away.

Dean watched him go, then took a deep breath and steeled himself to walk back into the room. Standing in the hall didn't exactly make it seem less real, but it was one step removed from a blood transfusion and IV fluids and oxygen and a little brother who was three shades too pale.

A little brother who was dying despite Dean's best efforts.

He sighed and pushed the door open.

Sam was still sleeping, but the lines of pain hadn't faded despite the painkillers. Despite the fluids and transfusion, he didn't look any better yet. It had only been a few hours, though, so Dean was probably expecting too much.

He returned to his seat in the armchair next to the bed. After watching Sam breathe for a few minutes, he glanced at the monitors. Blood pressure and pulse remained low, but at least they were trending in the right direction now.

He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, thinking back.

The countdown was on and they both knew what that meant. Two trials down, one to go. The second trial had taken more out of Sam than either of them had expected and it was terrifying. At least it was to him; Dean didn't know how Sam was feeling about it. He wasn't saying a lot these days.

Dean slouched back in the chair and glanced out the window. The dark of the night was just beginning to give way to the first light of dawn. Another night that he'd thought would never end.

Their arrival at the hospital had been precipitated by a simple salt and burn followed by heart-pounding fear when Sam's condition had taken a shocking nosedive. He'd been fine. Actually fine. The hunt had gone well and Sam had been fine.

Until he hadn't been.

They'd been in the Impala. Hunt done, they'd cleaned up, packed up, and were planning to drive home through the night. Fifteen miles later, Dean had pulled the car to the side of the road and was gripping Sam's arm as he struggled to breathe. Sam could hide a lot - or at least he thought he could - but he couldn't hide acute shortness of breath.

It had been bad enough, but then Sam had reluctantly admitted his chest was hurting.

Dean had made a beeline for the nearest hospital.

Sam hadn't argued, but then again, he'd been struggling to draw in air so he probably hadn't had enough breath to argue anyway. Once in the emergency room, it had only taken a matter of moments before Sam had been swept into an exam room and surrounded by an entourage of professionals. Dean had found himself standing against a wall and watching helplessly. The nurses and doctors worked efficiently and effortlessly, but their concern was obvious.

After a dozen tests, Sam was diagnosed with severe dehydration and anemia and earned himself an overnight stay. Not that he'd been paying enough attention to even know where he was. He'd been so worn out just with the effort of breathing that, by the time they reached the hospital, he'd been all but unconscious.

The doctor's words came back in a rush.

 _Your brother is dying._

Dean knew it. _Had_ known it. But hearing it from a medical professional made it real. Hearing terms like _autoimmune dysfunction,_ _multi-organ injury, uncertain etiology, rapid deterioration,_ and _end of life wishes_ made it real. It made his stomach twist and turn and his head throb.

They were running out of time. Running out of time to find a way to both complete the trials and save Sam's life. He was pretty sure Sam wasn't that concerned about his own wellbeing, but Dean was. And if Sam wasn't going to fight for anything but closing the gates of hell, then Dean was going to fight twice as hard for _him._

A weak cough drew his attention back to the present.

"Sam?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

Sam tilted his head, eyes still closed. He mouthed _Dean_ with lips speckled with a few drops of blood.

"Right here," Dean whispered.

Grabbing a tissue, Dean wiped the blood away, then reached for the cup of water.

"Sip," he instructed, holding the straw to Sam's lips.

Sam did as instructed, weakly drinking a few swallows of water. He didn't move at all and once he was done, struggled to catch his breath as if he'd just run a mile.

Dean hated it. He set the cup aside and studied his brother.

After a few seconds, Sam's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey." Dean smiled and squeezed his arm.

Sam didn't answer, his eyes unfocused and glazed as he stared at Dean. He frowned a little.

Reading the unspoken question, Dean said, "We're at the hospital. You're gonna be ok. They're just topping you up on fluids and blood then we can get outta here, ok?"

Sam blinked. The motion was sluggish and heavy, but when he looked at Dean, his gaze seemed clearer.

"How you doing?"

In answer, Sam's eyes slid closed. He was so wiped out Dean doubted they were going to be able to leave later in the morning. Figured they'd be waiting another whole day. Either way was fine. The pressure of the Trials would have to wait. Sam wasn't going to be able to complete them if he wasn't strong enough to even speak.

Dean kept his hand on Sam's arm and rested his head in his other hand. The room was silent except for the quiet beep of the IV pump and Sam's still labored breathing. Dean was almost asleep when Sam's arm shifted under his hand. Lifting his head, he found Sam staring beyond him, his fingers tapping Dean's arm.

"Sammy?"

"Look," Sam whispered, a small smile lighting his ashen features.

Dean frowned, then turned and followed his brother's gaze.

The faint hints of dawn from moments ago had transformed into a glorious sunrise. Bright oranges and reds bled into the deep blues of the night, painting the mountains below and stealing Dean's breath. He stared at it wordlessly, taking in the beautiful sight and feeling a faint stirring of what might have been hope if he believed in something like that anymore.

After a few seconds, Sam's fingers closed around his and squeezed.

Dean turned around and found Sam smiling at him.

Returning the smile, Dean asked, "What?"

Sam squeezed his hand again and said, "That's why."

"Why?" Dean frowned.

"Why we're doing this."

Dean's heart caught in his throat. He took another peek outside the window and the sight was no less awe-inspiring. Understanding filled him, and he turned to inform his brother that nothing was worth his life.

But Sam had faded back to sleep, a smile on his face, fingers still entwined with Dean's.

Giving his brother's hand a gentle squeeze, Dean whispered, "I'm not losing you this time, you hear me? I don't care why we're doing this. I'm not letting you go."

Whether Sam liked it or not, Dean had made up his mind.

Whatever it took, he was not giving his brother up again.

* * *

 **Tissue?**

 **Next Monday: a season two fic where we find out, on a scale from one to ten, how annoyed Sam is with his brother. :D**

 **hope you all have a great week! I'm moving this coming weekend so my week is going to be filled with packing and all that nonsense. UGH!**


	6. Ch6: High Thirties with a Chance of Rain

**_:) Good morning! Hope you all had a good weekend. Mine was busy with moving. Bleh. Things went well, but I'm afraid I didn't have the chance to sit down and thank you all for your reviews to the last chapter. Thank you so much for your notes, they were all much appreciated!_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Six: High Thirties with a Chance of Rain_**

 _Setting: Season Two, shortly after "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"_

* * *

"Did you have to hit me with a corpse's leg?" Sam sputtered, brushing leftover _dead black dog_ off his arm. "Was that really necessary?"

"Necessary, no." Dean was laughing almost too hard to get the words out. "Hilarious, oh _hell_ yes."

"You're an idiot."

"On a scale from one to ten, how annoyed are you right now?" Dean was still grinning. Still waving that damned leg around.

Sam shot him a glare and threw a shovelful of dirt on his boots. "At this exact moment, I'm hovering somewhere in the high thirties."

Dean snorted.

Sighing, Sam got back to the digging. Sometimes ignoring his brother was the only way to make him stop when he got into moods like these. Not that it wasn't good to hear him laugh.

Things were getting back on an even keel, but there were times he wasn't sure either of them were ever going to survive losing their father.

With that thought alone, his good mood went up in flames just like the black dog was about to.

The leg of the dog was pitched into the shallow pit and then Dean was slathering the corpse with accelerant as if it were a juicy steak he was covering in barbecue sauce. Sam took a step back when the book of matches appeared in his brother's hand. He didn't stay to watch the barbecue, just left the shovel at the edge of the pit, picked up the weapons bag, and headed back to the Impala.

Dean had been freaking out that the dog was going to damage the Impala but all Sam could think was how grateful he was that the dog had decided to come this way rather than running further into the woods.

Thunder was rolling somewhere far in the distance and Sam glanced up at the sky. The bright sunshine of earlier had faded to a cloudy, dismal grey without him even noticing. Angry clouds were gathering and rain wouldn't be far behind.

Sighing, he hurried to the car and started packing their gear in the trunk. As he packed their gear, he tried to pack his thoughts, too. Tried to pack them away in tiny little boxes with tight little lids where he kept things like missed childhoods, dead mothers and girlfriends, lost dreams, and just about every single thing related to his father.

Dean hadn't wanted to talk, to address his own grief, but, in his own way, he had. He'd taken a crowbar to the Impala and it had helped. Sam straightened and ran his fingers along the edge of the trunk. Everything had been replaced and made new. Nothing remained but the memory of watching his brother beat his most precious possession into pieces.

Sam had saved the Impala for Dean and maybe the Impala had saved Dean.

The fire was still crackling behind him and he knew Dean wasn't going to leave until the fire was out and the corpse was burned down to the bones. Not interested in watching the flames, Sam walked to the front of the Impala and sat down on the hood, staring at the gravel road ahead. Unbidden, his thoughts pushed open the lids of their tiny little boxes and he remembered sitting on the hood next to his brother on the side of a highway.

 _I never should've come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it._

 _What could you possibly say to make that all right?_

He hadn't known what to say then and he didn't know now.

Sam had been the one standing in the cold hospital hall alone, listening to doctors telling him how unlikely it was that his brother would live, let alone regain consciousness. He'd desperately wanted to believe Dean's miraculous recovery was just that. A miracle. But he knew better. They both did.

Dean recovered and Dad died.

And the Colt disappeared.

None of that added up to a miracle. It added up to something much darker. Much more terrifying.

Taking a shaky breath, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. With his left hand, he cradled his casted wrist close to his chest. It _hurt._

Dean had dealt the final blow to the black dog and he'd been so excited and happy that Sam had been willing to do anything to keep him in a good mood. Even getting hit in the arm by a _leg_ had been a sacrifice he'd been willing to make.

His wrist didn't care about his sacrifice, though. The throbbing ran all the way up his shoulder now. The Tylenol he'd taken before they'd left the motel had done precious little to alleviate the pain. And that had been _before_ they'd spent eight hours tracking the dog through the woods. Before they'd fought it and taken it down. And before he'd dug up the shallow pit.

The throbbing was at least good for one thing, Sam decided after a few minutes. It gave him something to concentrate on rather than the memories.

"Sam," Dean hollered from way behind him. "Load up."

Straightening, he glanced over his shoulder and didn't see flames anymore. More time had passed than he'd realized. Dean was heading his way and it was time to pack everything including the pain away. Even from this far away, Sam could see the lightness in Dean's steps. His good mood was still intact and that was the way Sam wanted to keep it.

So he pushed himself off the hood of the car and pasted a grin on his face.

"Did you have fun?" he asked as Dean tossed the shovel into the trunk.

"Yes, I did." Dean grinned, slamming the trunk. "Dead dog. Salted, burned, and buried all before it starts raining. Not too shabby if I do say so myself."

Sam smiled, carefully opening his door with his good hand.

"So whaddya think?" Dean asked, starting the car just as the first drops of rain hit the windshield. "It's early. Hit a bar? Get some food?"

"Sure."

He didn't want to do anything except find the good pills and crawl into bed and sleep, but he smiled and tried to show enthusiasm.

Dean turned the radio up and started talking about...something. Sam wasn't paying attention, just trying to make the appropriate, non-committal noises his brother would expect of him. Most of the time, coming off a good hunt, Dean was high on adrenaline and perfectly content to listen to the sound of his own voice. It worked out well this time because the pain in Sam's arm was becoming more and more distracting.

It hadn't even been a week since he'd broken his wrist. Probably should have been keeping it elevated and not straining it with things like hunting black dogs and shoveling graves. He considered resting his arm on the edge of the door, but the way his shoulder was hurting, decided against it. Better to just try to hold still and minimize all movement.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" _Crap._ That had come out a lot more strained than Sam had intended.

"We're here."

Blinking stupidly, Sam stared ahead and found himself looking at the motel. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he watched the wipers brushing streams of rain off the windshield. The sky was bright with shards of lightning. Somehow he'd missed everything, including the entire thirty minute drive back to town.

Glancing at Dean, he opened his mouth to say something...anything, but Dean spoke before he could.

"You take anything today?"

Sam nodded, his mouth dry.

"Tylenol?"

Sam nodded again, the movement jarring his shoulder which jarred his wrist which left him a little sick to his stomach.

Dean sighed and turned the car off. "Ok, come on. Inside."

"Thought we were going to a bar…" Sam's voice trailed off.

Dean was already out of the car and unlocking the motel door. Sam watched him flip the lights on and knew he should move. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself out of the car. The downpour was cold and, once he'd slammed the car door, he ran for the motel room.

Closing the door behind him, he found Dean, down to his t-shirt, pulling his boots off.

"I thought we were going out," Sam said, not taking his jacket off. He had no interest in struggling out of his jacket only to have to struggle back into it when Dean decided he was ready to leave.

"Too rainy," Dean said, pitching his boot at the far wall. He grinned. "Pizza will be here in a few minutes."

"Since when does rain…" _Wait, what?_ _Pizza?_ "Pizza?"

"Yes, pizza." Dean tossed his other boot to join the first. "You said it sounded good."

"I did?"

"Yes." Dean grabbed the remote and turned on the tv. That accomplished, he jumped onto the bed and settled back against the headboard. "Right after you agreed I was the smarter, more handsome brother and it was my birthright to always get first shower."

Sam opened his mouth to protest he had agreed to nothing of the sort, but he didn't remember a single bit of their conversation on the trip back to the motel.

"Yeah, you probably don't remember because you weren't paying any attention to anything." Dean read his mind. "You really should pay more attention to what you're agreeing to. Someday you might find you agreed to a haircut."

"Hilarious," Sam muttered.

"Take your coat off. We're not going anywhere."

Wanting to protest but deciding it wasn't worth it, Sam peeled his jacket off, turning away from his brother to hide how much the movement hurt. He left it slung over one of the chairs, then headed for the bathroom. If he remembered, he'd left the Tylenol in there. He could take a dose and also avoid being the one to answer the door.

Dean could pay for the pizza Sam didn't remember agreeing to getting.

He closed the bathroom door, listening for a moment to Dean's laughter as he settled on what sounded like _Lethal Weapon._ Dean seemed content with a pizza and a movie and Sam was relieved not to be facing a few hours at a crowded bar. It would have been easier to hide how much he was hurting if they were in a bar, though. Dean would get buzzed and wouldn't pay any attention.

Sam rubbed his shoulder and decided it didn't really matter one way or another.

He turned his attention to seeking the medication. And came up empty. The bathroom was empty. His brother must have been afflicted by a neatness bug and taken their gear out of the bathroom before they'd left for the hunt. Wonderful. He'd have to dig the Tylenol out of his bag and take it in front of his brother. Not that Dean didn't already know he was hurting.

After using the bathroom, he pulled the door open and the smell of pizza hit him. Dean had the box open and was already devouring a piece. Sam hadn't realized how hungry he was until right then.

Dean glanced up at him and then threw something at his head.

Sam tried, but he missed the item completely. Dean snorted. Ignoring him, Sam leaned down and grabbed the pill bottle. Straightening, he glanced at it, then shook his head. It was the heavy duty painkillers.

"I don't need-"

"Yeah. You do," Dean mumbled, mouth full. Sauce on his chin, he reached for another slice and said, "Don't argue. Just take them. You're making _me_ hurt just looking at you."

"It's not that bad." Sam set the pill bottle on the nightstand.

"You sat the entire trip back here looking like you were gonna cry-"

"I was not going to cry-"

"And you're sweating and your face is grey so you're gonna take the pills or I'll sit on you until you do."

Sam rolled his eyes even though he knew it wasn't an idle threat. Dean had done it before and Sam really didn't doubt he would try to do it again.

"I'll just grab some Tylenol," Sam said, reaching for a piece of pizza.

Dean yanked the box out of reach, then - in a move Sam hadn't seen coming - smacked his casted wrist.

Sam's breath left in a strangled gasp and he hit his knees. Everything went dark and his ears were ringing, but he could hear Dean swearing somewhere in the distance. Arm braced against his chest, he bowed forward and rested his head on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry, crap, Sam, I'm sorry." Dean's voice filtered in past the agony.

He sounded sorry, but he wasn't as sorry as Sam was.

Despite the blinding pain, his brother's frantic apologies were reminding Sam of their childhood. On more than one occasion, their roughhousing had gotten a bit _too_ rough and he could remember several times where he'd been bawling and Dean had frantically been trying to calm him down before their dad found out.

It made him laugh through the pain.

"Sammy?" Dean's hand was gentle on Sam's shoulder. He probably thought Sam was losing his mind.

"Hate you," Sam squeaked out, face still pressed to the mattress.

"Man, I didn't even hit you that hard."

"You were proving a point, I think."

"Did I prove it?"

Gritting his teeth, he nodded. The bolts of pain were still running up and down his arm.

Dean squeezed his shoulder and then said, "Sit up."

Sam shook his head, but Dean was insistent and tugged on him until he was sitting on the carpet, back to the other bed. Skewering his brother with a glare, Sam tried to breathe through the pain. Dean's expression was proof of how bad he felt about what had happened, but Sam wasn't inclined to be forgiving. Not yet, anyway.

"Here." Dean was kneeling in front of him. "Don't argue, just take them."

He didn't argue. He took the pills.

"These don't work fast enough."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, but they'll work better than the Tylenol."

Sam rested his head against the bed and stared at the ceiling. The pain left him grinding his teeth and unpleasantly dizzy.

"Up," Dean directed, not allowing any time for protest.

Sam zoned out and when his vision cleared, he was sitting on the bed, slumped against the headboard, his right wrist propped up on a pile of pillows. He stared at the cast for a moment, then glanced around the room. The lights were turned down and Dean was on his bed, stuffing his face with pizza.

"Where's mine?" He blinked in surprise at how slurred his words were.

"He speaks." Dean laughed, looking over at him. "Wasn't sure you were gonna come back around or if the pills would just pull you under."

"All your fault." Sam shook his head, trying to untwist his tongue and remember what had happened. He hadn't passed out, he was sure of that, but he'd definitely lost track of some time. "Pills don't work this fast."

"Dude. It's been almost an hour."

"What?"

"Yeah, got you settled there and you sort of just went out on me," Dean said, pushing himself off his bed. "You've been creepily staring into the middle distance ever since."

Sam rubbed his eyes. "It's called pain. It's what happens when your brother punches you. In your _broken_ arm."

"I didn't punch you. Do you want some pizza or are you going to fall asleep?"

"I'm starving. And you _did_ punch me," he griped, not bothering to lift a finger as Dean put a napkin on his leg and a slice of pizza on top of it. Looking up, he said, "I'm thirsty, too."

Dean huffed in annoyance, but grabbed a bottle of water from the little refrigerator.

"Not that."

"Well you're not gettin' beer. I'm not sure I can handle you high _and_ drunk."

"I want a Coke."

"I don't have a Coke."

Sam concentrated on lifting a cold piece of pepperoni pizza with his left hand. Taking a bite, he mumbled, "Go get me one."

"I'm not your slave, princess."

"No, you're the brute who punched me in my _broken_ arm." Sam grinned, suddenly finding the whole thing hilarious. Oh _yeah_ , those were some amazing pills. "Coke, brute."

Dean studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. One Coke coming right up."

Sam watched him go with great satisfaction. He'd finished his first slice of pizza by the time Dean walked back into the room.

"Coke." Dean held out the can.

"Can you open it?" _Oh boy. Now you're whining._ Another time, Sam might have been embarrassed, but right now he wasn't. Because his wrist _hurt_ and Dean had punched him.

Dean opened the can and Sam took it with a smile of thanks.

"Can I have another piece of pizza?"

"Oh my gosh, you are such a helpless baby when you're on drugs," Dean complained, but he got another slice of pizza. "Here."

Sam tucked the can of Coke between his knees and took the slice. "Thanks."

"Anything else? Ask now or forget it, cuz once I sit down…"

Dean left the statement hanging and Sam wracked his sluggish brain to try to come up with something he could ask his brother for simply to annoy him, but couldn't think of anything. So he just took a bite of pizza. Dean rolled his eyes, then sat down on the other bed.

For a few minutes, they fell silent, watching the movie. Sam finished his second slice of pizza, considered a third. Sipped his Coke and tried to keep up with the movie. He had no way to confirm, but he was pretty sure he wasn't keeping up with much of anything.

"Cake," Sam said, out of the blue.

"What?" Dean mumbled, sounding half-asleep.

"Cake."

Dean frowned over at him. "What about cake?"

"I want some." Sam wasn't sure when he'd started wanting cake, but now that he was thinking about it, he was having a hard time _not_ thinking about it.

"Yeah, well I want pie and a million dollars," Dean remarked, turning the volume up. "We don't get what we want, Sammy."

There was a lifetime of pain and bitterness wrapped up in his casual tone and, just like that day sitting on the side of the road, Sam had no idea what to say to make it all right. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. He didn't know how to fix anything. Didn't know how to help his brother.

 _What could you possibly say to make that all right?_

 _We don't get what we want, Sammy._

 _What could you possibly say to make that all right?_

 _We don't get what we want, Sammy._

Sam shook his head. He didn't know the answers to those questions.

 _What could you possibly say to make that all right?_

 _We don't get what we want, Sammy._

"Sometimes we do," Sam mumbled, not sure if he was talking to himself or to his brother.

"What?" Dean asked from far away.

"Sometimes we do. Get what we want."

"Yeah, sometimes-"

"You."

"Me what?" Dean sounded a little closer.

"I got you back." It was a struggle to form words, but Sam knew he was on the right track now so he kept plodding along. "I wanted you back. And you're back. He did it for you, Dean. Did it for _us_."

"Sam-"

"He _wanted_ to and he got what he wanted. And I got what I wanted."

Dean cursed and started muttering, but Sam couldn't hear what he was saying. He did hear the pain in his brother's voice if not the words. He'd hit a nerve, that was for sure, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a really bad thing. But the pull of exhaustion and narcotic pain relievers dragged him into sleep before he could say anything else.

* * *

Sam woke up the next morning to the sound of his brother singing _Pour Some Sugar on Me_ at the top of his lungs. It wasn't exactly a preferred way to be awakened, but at least Dean was in the shower and not singing straight into Sam's ear like he had an annoying habit of doing. For a moment, he tried to go back to sleep, but it just wasn't happening.

Stretching, he smacked himself in the face with his cast and cursed. Well, now he was _definitely_ awake. He yawned and forced his eyes open. It was still early, but the sun was out and Dean was in a good mood.

Sam smelled coffee and it was incentive enough for him to push himself upright. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the nightstand. A cup of coffee awaited him, along with something else.

Reaching for it, Sam opened the little styrofoam container and grinned.

Chocolate cake.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed!**_

 _ **Next week will be a change of pace with a pre-series stand-alone fic. I haven't done a story of the boys when they were kids/teenagers, so it was a fun story to write!**_

 _ **The following week, I'll be back with the next chapter to this story. Set in s12, the boys receive a package in the mail and attempt to balance expectations with reality.**_


	7. Chapter 7: Two Dozen

**_Happy Monday! :)_**

 ** _finally moved into my new place. Mostly settled in, but still a lot of unpacking ahead. So, so, so sorry I haven't had the chance to reply to all your wonderful reviews lately. :( that should change as of this week thought, hopefully!_**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Seven: Two Dozen_**

 _Setting: Anytime in Season Twelve_

* * *

"What did we get?" Sam asked, crowding Dean from the right.

Elbowing him, Dean said, "I don't know yet because you're in my way. Back off."

"Last time I backed off, you ate all the cupcakes."

"There were two _dozen_ cupcakes." Dean rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother again as he pushed past him into the kitchen. "I didn't eat all the cupcakes."

"Fine, but you ate most of them," Sam griped, at his side, still reaching out his hand for the box. "You opened the box before you got home."

"Well, I didn't this time. So back off."

Dean set the box on the kitchen table and flipped open his pocket knife, but Sam was already slicing through the packing tape. To save his fingers, Dean put his knife away and stood back.

"You'd think I don't feed you," Dean remarked as Sam ripped the box open.

Sam ignored him and began reverently lifting smaller packages out of the box. The scent of baked goods filled the air and Dean put his annoyance aside. Together they unpacked the packages and began opening lids.

"Pie." Dean grinned, finding not one but _two._ "Blueberry and apple."

"She sent cupcakes again." Sam sounded delighted as he unwrapped one.

Dean found a box of cookies and helped himself as they assessed their other treasures. There were three different kinds of cookies, two dozen cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, the pies, some biscuits, and blueberry muffins.

"Just wanted to let you boys know we were thinking about you," Sam read off the small card he found tucked in the box. "And yes, it was a stressful week for us if you couldn't tell by how much we baked. Alex was experimenting with some ingredients she said were heart-healthy so the muffins might taste a little odd, but she said she figured you would like them, Sam. And yes, Dean, the pies are chock full of butter and sugar."

Sam snorted and passed the note to Dean while he reached for one of the chocolate chip cookies.

Dean licked frosting off his finger and finished reading the note, "Enjoy the treats and share with each other. If I find out one of you is hoarding cookies from the other like last time, I'm going to have to start sending separate boxes. Take care of yourselves, ok? And don't be strangers. Love, Jody and the girls."

For a long moment, they stared at the spread in front of them. Sometimes the fact that their own mother was never around and seemed to have better things to do than even attempt to get to know them stung more than others. Right now, staring at a box of goodies sent to them from a woman they'd known for seven years, the sting wasn't so bad. Dean realized they'd known Jody longer than they'd known their own mother.

"She's pretty great, isn't she?" Sam asked quietly.

"Yeah. She is."

"We should send her a card."

Dean smiled. "We should send her a dozen roses."

"You know," Sam said, as he sat down, "this is the kind of stuff I always thought moms were supposed to do."

"This _is_ the kind of stuff moms are supposed to do." Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I guess I always imagined it like this. And when Mom…"

Dean sat down across from him and finished what Sam couldn't say, "And when Mom came back you thought she'd bake us cupcakes."

"No. Not really." Sam flattened the wrapper of his cupcake. "I just thought maybe she'd...want to...I don't know...be around. Sometimes. It's stupid."

"Hey. It's not stupid." Dean shook his head, anger rising.

Sam shrugged. "She doesn't know us. Not really."

"Yeah. She doesn't know us because she doesn't want to."

"She's scared."

"That's not an excuse." Dean slapped a hand on the table. "Her not being here is a choice. I don't care if she's disoriented or something from being brought back from the dead. We've both been dead before. We've both come back."

"Dean-"

"It's not an excuse!"

Sam took a deep breath and didn't meet his gaze.

Running a hand over his face, Dean forced down the anger and said softly, "I don't understand her. I don't get why she's pulling away. But it's not on you."

"I never said that." This time Sam did look up. There was conflict in his eyes. And a lot of hurt.

"You're thinking it, though." Dean smiled slightly even though his chest was tight. "I know you, man, and I know you've concocted some sort of reason for why Mom's avoiding us and I'm betting you've convinced yourself that somehow it's your fault. I know you _need_ a reason. Need to understand. But sometimes there just isn't a good answer."

Sam nodded, looking at the spread in front of them. After a moment, he smiled and said, "You're right. And sometimes there _is_ a good answer, but you just have to ask the right question."

"And what question would that be?"

"What color roses should we send Jody?"

"Red ones." Dean smiled. "Two dozen red roses. Nothing less than the best for her."

"Agreed." Sam put the lid back on the box of cookies. He got to his feet and said, "Don't eat that whole pie all at once."

Rolling his eyes, Dean called out, "Yes, Mom."

He heard Sam laughing as he walked out of the kitchen.

Dean sat back and looked over the goodies Jody had sent them, reminded yet again that family didn't always end with blood.

And sometimes it didn't start there, either.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :) Have a great week!**


	8. Chapter 8: O157:H7

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews to the past few chapters! I'm happy to say I'm more or less settled after my move and am getting back in the swing of things. :)**

 **This chapter's set in Season Thirteen for no particular reason other than I (overall) really liked S13 and I liked where their relationship was at. The past few seasons, things have been so much better between the Winchester Brothers and that makes me happy. :)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Eight: O157:H7_**

 _Setting: Season Thirteen_

* * *

"Few more steps," Sam coached, trying to guide his brother toward the bed.

Dean didn't say anything, but his harsh breaths crowded out the silence of the room.

It was ten after two in the morning and the motel had been a beacon of relief. Dean had wanted to keep going, but Sam had pulled over anyway. Despite his insistence to the contrary, Dean needed to be flat on his back in a bed. _Should_ have been flat on his back in a bed a couple hours ago, but stubbornness and a difficult Shtriga hunt had complicated everything.

"Ok, sit down." Sam braced his brother as he all but collapsed onto the bed.

Immediately listing toward the pillows, Dean groaned, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

Sam straightened, staring down at him as he lay there on his side, boots still on the ground. He was flushed with fever and his eyes were squeezed closed. Unmoving, he lay there panting for a few seconds, then his eyes flew open and he reached out a hand.

Taking it immediately, Sam hauled him up again and guided him to the bathroom. Dean pulled away and closed the door behind him. Leaving him be, Sam went back out to the car and brought in their gear. He was going to have to find a twenty-four hour convenience store soon. He'd grabbed a couple bottles of water at the last gas station, but nothing was staying in Dean's system long enough to allow him any benefit from the hydration.

Sighing, Sam closed the front door and dropped their stuff next to the table. He pulled back the covers on the bed, then sat down and grabbed his phone to start looking for a store. There was one not far away and he'd head there as soon as he got his brother settled.

He yawned, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Exhausted and sore, he had a pounding headache and really needed to use the bathroom. After a good twenty minutes passed, he was debating just going to the store so he could find a bathroom when Dean finally opened the door.

On his feet immediately, Sam crossed the short distance between them before Dean had the opportunity to take a step forward and wind up on the dirty carpet. Dean didn't say a word, just leaned into Sam's assistance. He was shaky, breathing hard, and moving like a drunken sailor on a tilting deck but he wasn't drunk.

Just suffering from a bad case of food poisoning.

Wasn't the first time, of course, but it was the first time in a very long time. Long enough that they'd both been caught off guard by it. Maybe it was because they were so used to having their own place now and Dean doing most of the cooking that they'd let their guard down.

 _E. Coli,_ or whatever it was, sucked.

"You should have told me you weren't feeling well," Sam said quietly as he guided Dean the few steps to the bed. They could have pulled over hours ago before it got this bad.

"When have I ever told you that?" Dean's voice was ragged and strained.

He suddenly planted his feet and Sam had an awful vision of him throwing up - or worse - right then and there. Dean pressed his free hand against his stomach, his face gone grey. Sam prepared for a quick trip back to the bathroom. After a touch and go minute or two, though, Dean slumped more heavily against him and waved his hand toward the bed.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Sam helped him the rest of the way and eased him down to the mattress.

This time Dean dragged his legs up onto the bed, curling up tightly with his arms wrapped around his stomach again. His eyes were closed and his breathing labored. Sam watched him for a minute, then, when it seemed like Dean would be staying put, Sam dashed for the bathroom.

Once he was finished, he checked his brother again. Nothing had changed. Dean wasn't asleep, but his eyes were still tightly closed.

"You want your boots off?" Sam asked.

"Don't want to move," Dean mumbled, barely opening his mouth.

"Think you'll be ok if I go get you some ginger ale and crackers?"

Dean groaned. "Never gonna eat again."

Sam smiled a little and said, "I'll be back as fast as I can."

He didn't get a reply. Sam turned the lights off in the room, but left the bathroom light on just in case. Softly closing the door, he hoped Dean would still be in bed by the time he returned.

* * *

The trip to the store didn't take long at all.

Sam had exceeded the speed limit by a good fifteen to twenty miles per hour and he'd run up and down the aisles. Actually, honestly _run._ The sleepy clerk had studied him with some suspicion but said nothing as he bagged his purchases. It wasn't like he looked like he was up to no good while buying electrolyte beverages and saltines. Sam had run out the door and sped the entire way back to the motel.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, Sam's heart sank. The bed he'd left his brother in was a tangled, torn up mess and the bathroom door was closed. Obviously things had not gone smoothly while he'd been gone. He set his purchases down on the table and crossed the room.

"Dean?" he called, tapping on the bathroom door. He heard a miserable groan before Dean spoke up.

"Go away."

Sam went away. There wasn't much he could do for his brother right now. He made a beeline for his gear and dug for some painkillers. The rushed trip through the store had aggravated his headache to the point the entire room seemed to be pulsing and he was having difficulty seeing. Hands shaking, he twisted the cap off a bottle of water and downed some pills.

He sat at the table for a long time and waited for his brother to leave the bathroom. When it didn't seem like Dean was coming out anytime soon, Sam put his head down against his arms on the table and closed his eyes.

The sound of thunder cracking nearby brought him out of his daze. Straightening, Sam gripped the edge of the table and pressed his other hand to his forehead to keep his head from exploding. The reverberations shook his brain and reignited the spiking pain between his eyeballs.

Massaging his forehead for a moment, he forced his eyes open and checked his watch.

Two hours. Two hours since he'd gotten back from the store.

He turned and looked at the bed. Still empty. Not good. Not good at all.

Sam shoved himself to his feet and stumbled across the room to the closed bathroom door. Leaning heavily against it, he knocked on the door and called his brother's name. Nothing but silence replied.

"Dean!" he called again, trying the door knob.

It was unlocked so he opened the door and found the light on and his brother sound asleep, leaning against the tub. Sam put his hands against the counter to hold himself up when his balance floundered as the bright light seared his retinas. It took a minute or two before he was able to force his eyes open again.

Turning, he did a more thorough job of assessing his brother. Dean had his arms folded across his chest, head tilted back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. He was pale and still, but he didn't appear to be in any pain at the moment. It had been _hours,_ though, since he'd had anything to drink so Sam left the bathroom to grab a bottle of water and can of ginger ale.

Rain was pounding on the roof as he returned to the bathroom. Setting the bottle of water on the counter, he popped the top on the can of ginger ale. Stepping forward, he nudged Dean in the shoulder with his knee.

"Dean. Hey. Wake up."

Dean came awake right away, although it took him awhile to achieve full awareness. Sam waited patiently, leaning against the counter, holding the ginger ale. After rubbing his eyes, Dean blinked blankly at the far wall, then shook his head and glanced around the room. His searching gaze stopped when he saw Sam.

"Hey," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He looked around the room again, then frowned and asked, "What's going on?"

"You need to drink something. You're dehydrated."

Comprehension filled Dean's eyes and he grimaced. Arms instantly wrapping around his middle, he turned a little green and Sam knew they weren't out of the woods yet. Dean shook his head.

"You gotta get some fluids in or we're going to the emergency room."

"Sam…" Dean's voice trailed off and he leaned his head back against the wall.

"Not optional." Sam crouched down and held out the ginger ale. "This or water."

Dean took a few shallow breaths, his eyes on the can like it was threatening him.

"Your stomach still bothering you?"

"Don't know how. Nuthin' left."

Sam knew all too well what food poisoning was like so he understood how sick his brother was. He shot him a sympathetic look and said, "Sorry. You gotta try, though. It's been hours."

Dean swallowed hard then asked, "Time's it?"

"Almost five."

Holding out his hand, Dean said, "You should get some sleep. You look like crap."

"I'm fine and you should see yourself." Sam smiled half-heartedly, putting the can in his brother's shaking hand.

"Did you hit your head?" Dean asked, holding the can in both hands.

"No. Why?"

"Look like you gotta a headache."

Sam blew out a slow breath and rubbed his temples. "Yeah. Just a headache."

Dean lifted the can and took an excruciatingly tiny sip. They both waited anxiously to see what would happen. When the sip stayed down for a full thirty seconds, the tension in the bathroom eased a little.

"You take anything?" Dean asked, then lifted the can for another tiny sip.

"Yeah. Stop worrying about me."

"You should go lay down."

"We _both_ should."

"Not sure that's a good idea yet." Dean shook his head and said, "I'll come to bed when I'm sure it's not all coming right back up."

Having spent many hours camped out on motel bathroom floors in his lifetime, Sam understood Dean's hesitation to move. He watched his brother take a slightly longer sip and hoped it was a good sign. There really wasn't anything more he could do for him and the headache was close to liquefying his brain.

"Ok," Sam said, reaching up for the bottle of water. He set it next to his brother. "You need anything else?"

"A new set of internal organs?" Dean smirked, looking just a little bit more like himself.

Sam returned the smile and patted his brother on the shoulder as he pushed himself upright. Hand to the wall, Sam slowly made his way toward his thus far untouched bed. The blinds were closed and rain was pouring outside from the dark sky. Hopefully he could relax for an hour or so.

Stretching out on the bed, he closed his eyes and buried his face in one pillow while he pulled another over his head. He had to shift a few times until he could breathe while also keeping even the barest _hint_ of light out of his refuge. He wasn't exactly comfortable and his head was still pounding, but it was a world of improvement over the torture of being upright. He couldn't relax, though, not knowing his brother was still sitting in the bathroom, dehydrated and sick.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there before he heard Dean shuffle out of the bathroom. The click of the light switch indicated Dean wasn't necessarily intending to return to the bathroom which was a good sign. Sam heard the clink of the can as Dean set it on the nightstand. He didn't move, just listened as Dean moved around.

A blanket was dropped over him and then he heard the groan of the springs as Dean flopped down on the other bed. He rolled around for a minute or two before apparently finding a comfortable position. Sam held his breath, hoping against hope Dean was going to settle and not have to run for the bathroom again. Several minutes passed in silence, then Dean sighed heavily.

"Night, Sammy," he mumbled, sounding half-asleep already.

Sam smiled, but didn't reply.

The rain outside lulled them both into sleep.

* * *

 **In case you were wondering, O157:H7 is the scientific classification of _E_ _. coli. :)_ The** **severity of illness with this bacteria can vary from mild to very severe. Dean can count himself lucky that I was in a kind mood when I wrote this and gave him a more mild experience lol. :)**

 **Next up in** **Chapter 9, we'll find out whether or not there is a right way to rake leaves. :)**

 **I have some standalone post S13 - pre S14 fics that I'll be posting next so stay tuned! Have a great week!**


	9. Chapter 9: Don't tell me I'm wrong

**How is it the weekends are always so short and Monday is always...Monday? Ugh.**

 **Time to find out how the Winchester brothers rake (or don't rake) leaves. ;)**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Nine: Don't tell me I'm wrong; I'll prove you right_**

 _Setting: Pre-series_

* * *

"Look, I brought you here to _help_." Dean already regretted his decision.

Sam was eight years old and should have been easy to boss around, but he wasn't. He questioned everything and had an opinion on everything. It was super annoying.

Glaring at his brother, Dean said, "I didn't bring you out here to tell me I'm wrong. There's no wrong way to rake leaves."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

"Yes, there is!" Sam's hands were on his hips now; a miniature version of their dad when he was lecturing one of them.

"No, there isn't!"

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean tried to intensify his glare - if such a thing was even possible. Apparently it wasn't effective because Sam didn't spontaneously combust or even look like he noticed. He just walked away.

"Get back here!" Dean shouted, stamping his foot like a two-year old. "You're supposed to help me!"

"I'm was helping."

"You're walking away."

"You want help, you get help." Sam paused, turning around with a shrug. "But don't be so bossy. I'll do it my way. The _right_ way."

Dean tried the glare thing again but Sam only raised an eyebrow. Huffing, he threw down the rake and said, "Fine."

Sam's casual indifference faded and he stopped trying to hide his smirk.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking something," Dean grumbled, reaching down and shoving a handful of leaves into the garbage bag.

"Dean," Sam said, in that awful school teacher-y voice of his, "it's impossible _not_ to think something. Our brains are always thinking even if we're not conscious of the fact. Of course I was thinking something, but I wasn't thinking what you thought I was thinking."

Fighting the urge to shove a handful of leaves down his brother's shirt, Dean straightened and said, "You don't know what I thought you were thinking."

"Of course I do."

"No, you don't. Grab that rake and get to work, Alfred."

"Why do I always have to be Alfred?" The school teacher-y tone vanished, replaced by whiny little brother tone. "And I do so know what you were thinking."

"You have to be Alfred because I'm older and that means I get to be Batman." Dean shoved more leaves into the bag. "If you're so smart, what was I thinking, Professor X?"

Sam had the rake in his hand but had yet to do anything with it. He shook his head, his expression incredulous as he asked, "What is this? The DC/Marvel crossover event? How can I be Alfred and then Professor X? And you do know that Alfred is _older_ than Batman, right?"

Dean clenched his fist around more leaves and shook them at his brother. "Do you want to eat leaves?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam said, turning away and _finally_ beginning to rake.

For a moment Dean just stood there. Sometimes his little brother was...well, Dean wasn't sure what he was. Irritating. Pesky. Too smart for his own good. He watched Sam rake for a minute, then sighed and got back to work bagging leaves.

"You were thinking I was thinking I told you so," Sam said after a moment.

Dean frowned, shoving a handful of leaves into the bag. Yet another example of his irritating, pesky, too smart for his own good little brother. If Sam thought he was going to admit that he _had_ been thinking Sam was going to say _I told you so,_ he had another thing coming.

Sam stopped raking and stared at him. Waiting.

Ignoring him, Dean reached down for more leaves.

"I'm right and you know it," Sam said haughtily, getting back to his raking.

"What I know is that if you don't shut up and pull your weight, I'm gonna shove all these leaves down your shirt."

Sam snorted.

Dean looked heavenward and rolled his eyes. Once upon a time, his threats had meant something. Now, Sam wasn't even phased in the slightest.

"You do remember that _you're_ the one who was supposed to rake the yard, right?" Sam asked, raking the leaves into a tidy pile. "I already did my chores."

"Yeah, cuz you get the easy shit to do." Dean kicked Sam's pile of leaves. "Just cuz you're cute."

"Ew." Sam wrinkled his nose. "I'm not cute. And you're not supposed to say _shit."_

"You gonna tattle to Dad?"

"Not if you split your dollar with me." Sam tilted his head, a pensive frown on his face. "You know Mariellen thinks you're cute, right?"

Dean turned away and grabbed more leaves. His face went warm and he wasn't about to let his brother know he was embarrassed. Shoving leaves into the bag, he said, "First of all, I don't care what Mariellen thinks. I'm not cute. I'm badass. And I'm not splitting my dollar with you, runt. You already got paid."

"Yes. I got paid cuz I did my chores. On my own. Now I'm here helping you do yours because you put it off and Bobby's not gonna be happy when he gets home. And I'm not a runt. I'm within the predicted averages for my age." Sam sucked in a huge breath after his long speech, then - just for good measure - added: "And don't say _ass_."

Groaning, Dean threw a handful of leaves. "You are so weird. How do you even know about _predicted averages_? And ass isn't a bad word."

"It _is_ a bad word. Mrs. Bentley says so."

Sometimes Dean _really_ hated the fact Sam paid so much attention to what people said. He also kind of hated Mrs. Bentley.

Sam continued, "And I know about things because I pay attention."

"I guess you have to pay attention to _predicted averages_ when you're so puny."

Dean expected Sam to get upset. Kick him. Maybe even try to tackle him which would lead to a wrestling match in the leaves which would be way more fun than putting them into a bag. But he didn't. He just looked a little hurt which was a whole lot less fun than wrestling in the leaves.

Regretting his words, Dean started trying to think of a way to get out of the hole he'd dug. The best thing he could think of would be to offer to split his dollar which he really didn't want to do. Or…

"You can be Batman," Dean offered, hopeful his offer would be well-received and the splitting of his chore money forgotten.

Sam paused his raking, looking up at Dean with a thoughtful look on his face. There was a smudge of dirt on his left cheek and a scrape on his chin from where he'd smacked his face on the bookshelf after trying to climb it despite having been told not to. His hair was a tousled mess and Dean was pretty sure there was some grape jelly on the front of his shirt from lunch. Regardless of all that, he looked like one of those big shot lawyers on TV. The ones who knew just the right thing to say to keep their client out of jail.

Or put someone else's client _in_ jail.

Dean hated it when Sam looked at him like that. Because he was way too smart for an eight year old and way too shrewd for a little brother. Holding his breath, Dean wondered what decision Sam would reach.

"I don't want to be Batman," Sam finally said.

"You don't?"

Sam shook his head, starting to rake again.

"Why not?" Dean frowned.

"Because you're supposed to be Batman." Sam shrugged, not looking up. "You're better at being Batman than I am."

 _Well, duh,_ Dean thought, but didn't say it aloud. He waited for more, but Sam was concentrating on the leaves. And then he started talking about the weird stuff he learned in his science class. Dean went back to bagging leaves. Sam was smart and sometimes Dean thought his brain was too full and that was why he tended to skip from one subject to the next. Of course, in this case, it was in Dean's favor since Sam seemed to have forgotten being called _puny._

Sam kept talking and raking and Dean picked up leaves and tried to imagine his brother as a grown-up. It was hard to picture because, if Sam was already this smart, by the time he grew up his head would probably have exploded with everything he knew.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you ever gonna stop being Batman?"

"Nope."

Sam looked up at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Really."

"Even when you get grown up?"

"I'm always gonna be Batman." Dean shook his head. "Someone needs to look out for you."

Sam smiled and said, "You don't have to be Batman to do that. You're better than Batman anyway."

"I am?" Dean started thinking maybe he should share his chore money with his brother.

"Yeah. Cuz Batman doesn't know how to be a big brother and you do. I bet he doesn't know how to keep monsters from eating me or how to make a peanut butter and banana sandwich and I bet he doesn't know how to hunt rollie pollies either."

Dean laughed. "I bet he doesn't."

Sam grinned.

"We good?" Dean asked, still hoping his chore money wasn't in jeopardy.

"Sure." Sam tilted his head looking like he didn't understand the question. Like he didn't understand why they wouldn't be good.

Just like that, Dean couldn't even remember why he'd been irritated with his little brother in the first place. Sure, Sam had critiqued his methods for raking the leaves and generally been a pain in the ass little brother. But he'd come outside when Dean had asked for help. Even though Sam had already done his chores and Dean had put his off until the last minute.

Dean smiled, watching Sam neatly raking the few remaining leaves into a micro-small pile. There were probably only about twenty leaves in the pile but Sam was putting his heart and soul into what he was doing. Like he always did. He was muttering to himself; brain always working overtime.

Looking down at the trash bag in his hand, Dean's smile widened.

He took two steps forward and dumped the entire bag out over Sam's head.

"Hey!" Sam squealed, trying to dodge away.

He wasn't fast enough or strong enough, though, and Dean gleefully shoved an entire fistful of leaves down the back of his t-shirt. What followed was the wrestling match Dean had been longing for ever since Sam had come outside. Sam was too little to prove to be too much of a foe, but that didn't mean he didn't try. What he lacked in strength and height, he made up for in brutality.

Sam wasn't above pinching or biting, and he never hesitated to punch very sensitive parts.

Dean put up with the pinching and he could dodge the punches, but getting bit wasn't something he tolerated. Because Sam bit _hard._ After one such vicious bite to his left arm, Dean threw his weight and knocked them both to the ground. Sam ate a mouthful of leaves and Dean triumphantly sat on him.

In all honesty, he worried about what would happen when Sam got a little bigger. Right now, he was easy enough to control but what was going to happen when he got big enough to fight on Dean's level?

"Dean!"

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dean glanced down at the pathetic squeak beneath him. Sam was spitting dirt and leaves and kicking and pounding his fists on the ground. Dean gauged he had about two minutes, probably less, before the tears would start. And that was something he just wasn't interested in dealing with today.

"What's the matter, Sammy?" He ruffled his brother's hair, then patted his head. "You look comfy down there."

"Get off me!"

Oh yeah, time was ticking.

Sam was going from irritated to whiny. His breaths were starting to get shorter and huffier which only meant one thing: he was about to start bawling. If he didn't want to come up with a good excuse to use on Bobby when he asked why Sam was crying, Dean knew he needed to move. So he slid off his brother, fully prepared for the wildly thrown punches Sam threw at him. Easily defending himself while also staying away from the vicious, snapping teeth, Dean laughed. This was a lot more fun than raking leaves.

Sam fell backwards onto his butt in the leaves and glared up at him. Now his entire face was dirty and he had leaves stuck in his hair.

"What?" Dean held his arms out wide, grinning. "What's the matter?"

"You." Sam threw a handful of leaves at him. They fluttered to the ground a good foot away from Dean. Huffing in frustration, Sam said, "Now look what you did."

"Uh...made a boring chore more fun?"

Sam snorted. "You just made more work for yourself. We had all those leaves bagged up. Now you gotta pick 'em all up again."

"You mean _we."_

"No. I mean _you._ " Sam got to his feet and struggled to shake the leaves out of his shirt. "I helped you and you made the mess. I'm going inside and getting some ice cream."

"Bobby said we couldn't have that yet!"

Sam smiled beautifically like the little angels in some of Bobby's books and said, "No, he said _you_ couldn't have any. Because you didn't finish your chores. And you still haven't. But I have."

"Sammy!" Dean called out, sensing he was about to be left behind to rake up the leaves again all by himself. "Come on! Help me out and I'll give you my dollar!"

"You already owe me your dollar," Sam said, doing an awkward sideways hop as he tugged his shirt to the side and tried to get rid of the rest of the leaves. "Finish the leaves and maybe I'll save some ice cream for you."

"Or…" Dean left the statement unfinished.

It worked like magic.

Sam paused and looked back at him. "Or what?"

"Or we can put all the leaves in a pile and jump off the porch."

Sam's eyes lit up.

Dean grinned.

"We'll have to bag them all up after though," Sam said, ever the stickler for rules.

"Yeah, we'll bag them up." Dean waved a hand. Details. "Come on, it'll be like we're skydiving."

Already raking the leaves into a pile, Sam looked up and said, "But you still owe me your dollar cuz I helped you. Twice."

"Deal." Dean nodded and extended his hand.

Sam shook it somberly and Dean decided it was well worth giving him the dollar just to have gotten him outside to play for awhile.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I had so much fun writing this one. :)**

 **Hope the week ahead is a good one for all of you! :)**


	10. Chapter 10: One of Those Days

**_Happy Monday!_**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Ten: One of Those Days_**

 _Setting: Any Season_

* * *

There were days when Sam truly believed he'd been cruelly fated to spend the entirety of his life with the world's biggest, most immature child. Of course, there were other days when he knew without a doubt that he had the best big brother in the world.

Today was not one of those _other_ days.

Today he was considering leaving his brother on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. It would be a considerable feat to accomplish given the fact that Dean was the one driving. But the risks might just be worth it...

"Still mad at me?" Dean's question interrupted Sam's thoughts but not his annoyance.

"Yes." Sam didn't turn to look at his brother. He didn't want to see the smug smile. He'd endured two and a half hours of that smug smile.

"Admit it. You had fun."

"No, _you_ had fun."

Dean laughed and pounded on the steering wheel. "Damn straight! I had a blast. You're such a boring person. I can't believe we're even related."

"Funny. I was just thinking the same thing."

"Aw, come on. What would you do without me?" Dean reached over and rubbed Sam's head.

Slapping his hand aside, Sam said, "I'd do a lot less stupid stuff."

"It wasn't stupid."

"That's your opinion."

"Dude. Karaoke is not stupid. It's a form of self-expression. You need to embrace life a little more."

Sam snorted. "You embrace it enough for the both of us."

"Sammy, Sammy. I went wrong somewhere along the lines when I raised you. Not sure when, but I failed you."

"Failed me because I don't like karaoke?"

Dean started snickering again and Sam hated him even more for continuing to find humor in the situation.

For a blessed thirty seconds, Dean shut up. Then he started up again.

"I should've been shooting video-"

"You are very lucky you weren't."

"You were so horrible." Dean was laughing again. "So horrible! It was great."

"It was _not_ great. It was humiliating."

Dean shook his head. "It was hilarious."

"Says you." Sam crossed his arms over his chest, feeling exactly like a pouting two-year old.

"Yes, says me. You had _fun_." Dean punched him in the shoulder. "Admit it. _You_ had actual, legit fun. Not nose-in-a-book-buried-in-a-library-fun, but real fun."

"Whatever." Sam waved a hand, ready to be done with the entire discussion.

Truth be told, he was beginning to have trouble maintaining his annoyed demeanor. He would _never_ admit it to his brother, but last night _had_ been fun. Spending an evening kicking back and acting like normal brothers instead of _monster-hunting brothers_ , had been wonderful. Honestly, he had been far too drunk to be embarrassed by his own behavior, let alone Dean's antics.

Even so, he wasn't ready to stop complaining. If Dean could harass him endlessly about what a fool he'd made of himself, he could return the favor with his endless griping. It was a formula that had worked since they were teenagers and he saw no reason to change his ways now.

Apparently neither did his brother.

"It was such a great night. We need to do that more often. You're so lame when it comes to having fun."

"Dude, we got drunk. You made me do karaoke." Sam shook his head before remembering why that wasn't a good idea. "I have a blinding headache. We slept in the car so now my back is aching on top of the hangover and you haven't even stopped to get water or coffee or breakfast. I'm dehydrated and hungry. None of that is fun."

"And bitchy." Dean raised and eyebrow. "Wow. You are so grumpy."

Yes, there were days when Sam knew without a doubt that he had the best big brother in the world.

Today was not one of those days.

* * *

 **:) Hope you enjoyed!**

 **So...Colby's girl had a great question in her review: with what song did Sam make a fool of himself? Ha! that just cracked me up and after giving it 3 seconds thought, I decided the song Sam sang (that Dean DEFINITELY should have captured on video) was: _Mamma Mia!_ Yeah. Dean made a big mistake not video taping that... ;) lol! Can you even imagine? :) **

**Next up is a two-parter from S12. I don't know about you guys, but I think there was probably a whole lot more emotional aftermath following their imprisonment in that top secret facility than we got to see on the show. So, of course, I had to explore it further. :) Have a great week!**


	11. Chapter 11: Atlantic City

**Happy Monday! Only three more days till S14! I'm excited and terrified. It seemed like it would never get here and now it's here and I just want to go hide in denial-land somewhere. :) Here's hopin' for a great season!**

 **In the meantime, here's a little fic from waaaay back in Season 3. This one picks up after the episode where the boys wind up helping Bela with the ghost-ship case. Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Eleven: Atlantic City_**

 _Setting: Season Three, post "Red Sky at Morning"_

* * *

They left Massachusetts and Dean had every intention of making good on his suggestion that they head to Atlantic City.

Of course, Sam was being a wet blanket. A _silent_ wet blanket. He hadn't said a single word after Dean had shut down his impassioned speech about the deal.

Content to let him stew in his own juices, Dean had pointed the Impala south and tried to think about how good it would feel to hit a casino and blow some of the money Bela had given them.

" _To settle affairs_ " as she'd put it.

They'd only been on the road for about an hour when his throat started to hurt.

It might have been hurting before, he wasn't sure. It wasn't bad, but it _was_ irritating. Swallowing hurt and he started fantasizing about cough drops. Not something he wanted to admit to his still stewing brother. So he pushed on for another hour until he needed to fill up the gas tank.

As soon as he'd parked the car, Sam jumped out, slammed the door, then disappeared into the gas station. Shooting his back an aggravated glare, Dean rubbed his throat and pumped the gas. Sam came back with a cup of coffee in each hand before Dean had finished filling up the tank. A couple candy bars were poking out of his pocket and Dean hid his smile.

Maybe they still weren't speaking, but it looked like Sam was thawing out.

Dean headed into the gas station while Sam was getting himself settled in the car. After hitting the bathroom, he bought a bag of cough drops and a couple bottles of water. He popped a cough drop into his mouth before he left the station and hoped Sam wouldn't notice the menthol on his breath. Tucking the bag into his pocket, he left the gas station and walked to the car.

Getting behind the wheel, he found a candy bar perched on the dashboard in front of him. Once settled, a coffee cup was extended to him. He took it with a casual _thanks_ to remind his brother that _he_ wasn't the one who had started the silent treatment. Sam mumbled what Dean chose to interpret as _you're welcome._

He held onto his coffee for a good ten miles before he tried a sip and yeah, maybe coffee and a menthol cough drop had been a bad idea. It was disgusting, but he didn't really have a choice because he couldn't just spit it out. It took a few more sips before the disgusting flavor began to fade. The coffee wasn't doing as much for his throat as the cough drop had, but it was helping to fire up his slogging brain cells.

Why he was so tired was beyond him. Yeah, sure, they'd been up most of the night dealing with nautical ghosts, but he had caught _some_ sleep. Shaking his head, he took another sip of coffee and told himself he could feel the coffee working.

After another hour, his head began throbbing. The headache coincided nicely with Sam's ceasefire of the silent treatment. Dean had no clue what had prompted the sudden change, but once Sam started talking, he hadn't shut up. For a solid ten miles. Dean mumbled the appropriate noncommittal noises that would make his brother think he was listening. He was actually thinking about painkillers and parking for the night.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" Dean shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Uh huh. You're spaced out."

"Well you're talking, what do you expect?"

"Funny." Sam sounded irritated, but not angry.

"It was a long night."

"I was there."

"I think I'll find a motel. Could go for a steak. Bela's buying."

In all honesty, all he could go for right now was a bed and some Tylenol.

Sam shifted in his seat. Probably sending him a confused glance. Or a concerned one. Dean didn't check to find out.

After a minute, though, Sam asked, "You sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Sam, I'm alright."

"Ok. You were just in a hurry to get to Atlantic City-"

"Well, now I'm in a hurry to get a steak. So sue me."

"Good grief!" Sam huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "Fine. Let's get a steak."

"Fine."

Head pounding, he drove for another twenty miles until they were on the far outskirts of New York City. Neither of them had any desire to go into the city and he was relieved when they came to a good sized neighborhood with plenty of motels and restaurants.

When he decided he was more interested in a bed than a steak, he knew he was coming down with something.

 _Spectacular._

* * *

Dinner had been a low-key experience.

Neither of them were very chatty, but at least Sam had abandoned the cold shoulder treatment from earlier. Each bite of steak hurt like hell going down Dean's sore throat and he couldn't even taste it. _What a waste of money,_ he thought to himself sorrowfully. He'd snuck some Tylenol so at least the headache had gone down a few notches.

They found a motel after dinner and settled in for the night. Sam pulled out his laptop and spent the evening doing who knew what.

Dean spent the evening staring at the television, trying to conceal how horrible he felt from his brother. It was as if the act of sitting down had given his immune system the night off. Head muzzy, he secretly popped cough drops when he could to soothe his burning throat. He hadn't bothered to take off his jacket and it was just as well considering how chilled he was.

All in all, he felt like hell which really wasn't fair considering he wasn't even there yet.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke through the fog in his head.

"Hey, Dean. Just get some sleep ok?"

"What?" Dean blinked, feeling like he'd missed an entire conversation. "What time's it?"

"Does it matter?" Sam asked, shaking his head and not even trying to hide his worry. "You can't keep your eyes open."

Struggling to prove his brother wrong, Dean rubbed his eyes and tried to read his watch. "What time is it?"

"Late. It's seven. You should sleep."

"Seven?" Dean frowned, squinting at his watch, then up at his brother who was suddenly looming over him. "Seven isn't late. You going to bed?"

"No. Are you kidding?" Sam smiled. "It's too early."

"You just said it was late," Dean attempted to argue, his brain not cooperating with him. He was pretty sure he was already losing the argument.

"It's late when you look like you do right now." Sam grabbed the remote out of his hand and turned the tv off. "Get some sleep."

Dean opened his mouth to gripe, but yawned instead. Sam didn't say anything aloud but his raised eyebrows said _See? I told you so._

Too tired to bother defending himself, Dean slumped down against his pillows.

He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

Dean woke up coughing.

It shocked him out of a deep sleep. He _hurt_. From his throat to his chest, everything hurt. He rolled over and muffled his next coughing fit in the pillow. _Crap!_ He was definitely sick. Which sucked for all sorts of reasons. Right now, it mostly sucked because he was awake and coughing when he wanted to be asleep.

When he caught his his breath and managed to quell the coughing reflex for the moment at least, he glanced at the other bed. Sam was sound asleep. Good to know he'd sleep straight through Dean coughing himself to death.

Groaning, Dean pushed himself upright. The room spun a little and the movement triggered another coughing spell. And it wasn't just a "tickle cough". No, this was full blown, _my lungs are going to come out of my chest_ coughing. He took a few slow, cautious breaths and could hear the distinct rattle deep in his chest.

 _Won-der-ful._

He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom. Closing the door quietly behind him, he reached for the complimentary cups on the counter. Three cupfuls of water went down easy enough and did help calm the coughing. At least for the moment. His throat still hurt and he didn't need a thermometer to know he was running a fever.

Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he wondered how it was possible to get so sick so fast. And then he wondered how on earth he was going to be able to hide this from his brother. It was a miracle Sam hadn't already woke up from hearing the coughing.

The best thing to do would be to run.

He smiled ruefully, imagining the state of Sam's panic if he should disappear.

And then he stopped smiling because he didn't want to think about stuff like that. Sam had accused him of not caring that he was doomed, but Dean _did_ care. He cared a whole helluva lot, actually. He didn't regret his choice, though. Wouldn't regret it. Would _never_ regret it even if he'd regret a lot of other stuff.

A coughing spell put an end to his musing. He took another sip of water, then reached for one of the grisly washcloths. They weren't even in the same _realm_ as the color white. Another time he would have cared, right now, he didn't. Soaked with cool water, the washcloth went against his burning face. It helped a little.

He was considering a shower when there was a knock at the door.

"Who's there?" he called out. His voice sounded like gravel.

"Very funny. You need another minute, or you want to just admit you're sick so we can move on?"

Sighing, Dean dropped the washcloth and shook his head at himself in the mirror. He said, "Go back to bed and we'll pretend I'm fine until morning."

Sam laughed and Dean thought maybe he would go away but he didn't.

"Dean. Come on. It's two in the morning. Open the door."

"No privacy," Dean griped, opening the door, then dissolving into an inopportune coughing fit.

Sam politely waited until he was breathing again before saying, "You sound terrible."

"Thanks."

Dean pushed past him, heading for his bed.

"You take anything?"

"Tylenol. Earlier."

"Hey, don't even think about it," Sam said, catching him by the arm as he started to list to the side. "Sit up. I'm not done with you yet."

Groaning, Dean muttered, "Doesn't sound as sexy when it's you sayin' that."

"Gross."

Rolling his eyes, Dean smiled briefly. Served him right. Hands braced on the edge of the bed, he watched as Sam went through his bag and dug out the Tylenol. Filling a cup with water, he walked over and presented them to Dean.

"Where's your stash of cough drops?" Sam asked, already rooting through the jacket Dean was still wearing.

 _Of course he knows about the cough drops._

Swatting his hand away, Dean gave him back the cup of water and said, "Hands off."

"You look like you're running a fever."

"Hadn't noticed."

"You're also wheezing."

Dean coughed, then said, "Am not."

"Don't be an idiot, I can _hear_ you wheezing."

"Can I lay down now or are you going to x-ray me?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Anything else what?" _I am so ready for you to shut up._

"Is it just the cough or…"

"Throat's sore."

Sam frowned. "Probably because you were out all night in the cold rain."

"Give the man a cookie." Dean flopped backwards on the bed and rolled over, bringing the comforter with him. "Go away."

"Cup of water right next to you on the nightstand. Try not to cough all over me. I'd rather not get sick."

"Brat," Dean muttered, trying to hold back another round of coughing.

By five in the morning, they'd both given up on sleep. Sam had gone for a run because apparently his immune system hadn't been bothered by a rainy night. Dean sat on his bed, down to his t-shirt. Sweating. And coughing. And blearily trying to watch the morning news.

At six on the dot, Mr. Immunity was back and had at least brought coffee and donuts to soothe the invalid.

"The donuts are a bribe," Sam announced, too cheery for having gotten next to no sleep.

"Hmph?" Dean asked around a mouthful of bribe-donut.

"Yeah." Sam grabbed his bag and headed into the bathroom. "Clinic opens at seven-thirty."

The bathroom door slammed before Dean could argue.

* * *

"It's impossible."

"Apparently it's not."

Dean glared at his brother for all the good it did him. "I hate you."

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and said, "Get in the car."

"I hate you," Dean muttered again, but he got in the car.

"Now," Sam said, ignoring the glare he was receiving, "do you want to stay at the motel we stayed at last night or do you-"

"I want to go to Atlantic City, Sam."

He broke out coughing again as Sam started the car.

After waiting politely for the fit to pass, Sam said, "Alright. If you take your medicine like a good boy, you can play at the casino."

"I swear, if you don't lay off…" he couldn't finish his statement because - _of course_ \- he was too busy coughing.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, far too smug. "I must have missed that. You were saying?"

"I swear...if...you…" Every time he opened his mouth he coughed.

Sam patted him on the back when he leaned forward.

"Easy. Here take a sip."

Dean did and the water did help settle his cough down. He shook his head, slouching down in the seat and staring at the ceiling.

Once he was able to breathe again, he said, "I still say it's impossible."

"And, again, it's obviously not."

Groaning, Dean closed his eyes. "It was one night in the rain. Wasn't even that cold out. How did I wind up with pneumonia?"

"You know it's not the cold that gives you pneumonia, right?"

"I hate you so much right now-"

"The cold probably aggravated your system, but you likely were exposed to pneumonia when we were on the last case and you were wandering around that hospital," Sam explained, frowning at him. "Good handwashing is imperative-"

"It's _imperative_ that you not finish that statement." Dean covered his eyes with his hand.

Sam snorted and a cold hand was pressed to his burning forehead. Dean was too tired to care or resist. A moment later the car slowed to a stop and then a blanket was spread over him and tucked around his shoulders.

"I'm too hot."

"You're going to-"

"If you explain how a fever works to me one more time-"

"Do you want a cough drop?"

Pulling the blanket closer, Dean grumbled, "Yes, of course I do."

Sam grinned at him, handed him a cough drop, then pulled the car back onto the road.

"Comfy?"

It pained him to say it, but he did anyway. "Yes."

"Good." There was no teasing in Sam's tone now. Just honest concern. "Try to get some rest, ok?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Sammy," Dean mumbled, resting his head more comfortably on the seat back.

"Anytime."

Sam patted him on the chest and Dean smiled despite how miserable he felt.

Hell might be breathing down his neck, but his brother had his back.

And it felt pretty great.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Hope it was a fun, humorous little start to your week.**_

 _ **Next Monday, will be a S13 fic where the boys take some time out of their busy schedules for a little healing and a little celebrating.**_


	12. Chapter 12: Five Years

**Happy Monday!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Twelve: Five Years_**

 _Setting: Season 13, mid-season, pre-Scooby-natural_

* * *

"It's our anniversary," Dean said, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"Did you bring me flowers?" Sam asked, clueless as to what Dean meant.

Dean snorted.

Rolling his eyes, Sam adjusted the collection of ice packs he had piled up against the right side of his chest.

"Didn't get you a card either," Dean added.

"It's like you don't even love me anymore."

This time Dean laughed. He stepped forward and threw something toward Sam. Whatever it was landed on the bed next to him. Sam didn't bother to move.

"What's that?" Sam tilted his head toward other side of the bed.

"A present."

"It better be the pills."

Dean nodded.

"Took you long enough."

"Sorry. Traffic."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "In Lebanon?"

"John Deere," Dean said with a dramatic sigh.

"So what anniversary are we celebrating?" Sam asked, reaching out for the pills and trying very hard not to move anything but his left hand.

"We've lived here for five years." Dean smiled and extended his arms to encompass the room.

"Wow."

"I know." Dean nodded, his expression awed. "Dude, this is the longest either of us has ever lived in one place."

It was true. There had only been four and a half years of stability in their home in Lawrence before the course of their lives changed forever.

"It's been five years to the day."

Sam smiled, hearing the pride and joy in his brother's voice. Of course he'd remember the exact date they'd moved in. Dean had loved the Bunker since the moment he'd set foot in it. It hadn't taken him long at all to settle in and make the place his own. _Their_ own. Dean had never stopped trying to get Sam to unpack his suitcase so to speak and actually move in.

"We should celebrate," Sam said, fumbling with the lid of the pill bottle and getting increasingly short of breath.

Dean crossed the room and took the pill bottle away. "Celebrate?"

"Sure." Sam slouched against his pillows, waiting for the meds. "It is kind of a big deal."

"It is, isn't it?" Dean grinned, handing over two pills and a bottle of water.

It actually was a big deal. Sam hadn't realized it had been five years and while he had never nested to the degree his brother had, it was still their home. The only one they'd ever had together.

No, he never had put up the _ha_ _ng in there, kitty_ poster, but he did have his books arranged the way he liked them. He knew where every file he could ever need was located. He could wash his clothes and go do something else instead of having to hover at a dirty, smelly laundromat. There was always something to eat. Most of the time, anyway. All in all? Sam loved the Bunker as much as his brother did.

So he swallowed the pills, handed the water back, then said, "We should do something."

"Yeah?" The wheels were clearly turning in Dean's mind.

"Sure."

"I'd say we go out and celebrate, but you're not drinkin' while you're takin' those pills."

"No argument from me." Sam wasn't sure he could even get out of bed, let alone go to a bar. "So, what're we going to do, then?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. What do people usually do for their fifth anniversary of living in a home?"

"I'm not sure it's actually a thing." Sam laughed even though it hurt.

"Probably not. But it's a thing for us. We should at least have a cake, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Alright. Cake it is." Dean took a step toward the door, paused, and asked, "Need anything else?"

All he needed was for the pills to work their magic. He shook his head. "I'm good."

"You're alive," Dean said, staring at him long and hard. "But you're not good. Stay put and I'll check on you in awhile."

"Chocolate cake," Sam mumbled, the heady combination of pain, exhaustion, and narcotics already beginning to drag him under.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Sam smiled and closed his eyes.

* * *

A few hours later, Dean walked back into his room and presented him with a piece of chocolate cake.

"You made it?" Sam asked, still half-asleep and not quite ready to sit up.

"Of course I made it." Dean beamed at the slice of cake.

"Frosting, too?"

"Cake would be pretty lousy without frosting."

"Yes, it would be."

"Hey, don't go back to sleep," Dean said, suddenly close and snapping his fingers in Sam's face.

Peeling his eyes open again, Sam attempted to glare at his brother. It was difficult when he couldn't get his eyes to focus and Dean was standing there with a frosted slice of chocolate cake in his hand. His mouth watered as he smelled the cake at close range. It was probably still warm.

Dean moved out of his field of vision and, just as Sam was wondering if he'd decided to walk away with the slice of cake, he reappeared, holding a hand out. Sam took it and allowed Dean to do most of the work to get him sitting up. The room did a few dips and rolls.

"Still flyin' or they wearin' off?" Dean asked, steadying him as he sank into the pile of pillows.

"Huh?"

Dean laughed, patting him gently on his shoulder. "Guess that answers my question. You're just loopy, not in pain."

He looked so relieved, Sam didn't have the heart to tell him he'd never _not_ been in pain. It was a deep, dull pain that ached despite the pills. It was better than it had been earlier, though.

"Ready?" Dean asked, grabbing the plate off the nightstand.

"Thanks." Sam accepted the plate and fork. "You already eat yours?"

"Yeah." Dean pulled a chair up close to the side of the bed and straddled it. "Not half bad."

Sam took a bite, listening as Dean discussed his decision making process for choosing the cake recipe. Apparently he'd gone through all three of their cookbooks before finding a recipe he thought sounded the best. Sam hadn't even realized they owned three cookbooks.

"The frosting is easy, though," Dean was saying as he tapped his thumbs on the back of the chair. "It's just one of those things you don't use a recipe for, you know? Like art, you gotta just keep working at it till it's perfect."

"It is perfect."

"You're welcome." Dean grinned.

Sam paused, suddenly trying to catch his breath. It was ridiculous that he was so wiped out just from talking and eating a slice of cake.

"You alright?" Dean asked, obviously picking up on Sam's situation.

"Yeah."

Dean was looking worried and Sam would've tried to assure him he was absolutely fine, but he was too fatigued. Eyes slipping closed of their own volition, Sam concentrated on his breathing. It took a moment before he was able to open his eyes and consider lifting his fork again.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. Just… you know."

Dean nodded.

Sam motioned to the cake. "This is amazing, Dean."

"Glad you like it." Dean grinned.

"So what should we do to commemorate our fifth anniversary?" Sam asked, once he'd finished the piece of cake.

"Well, we had cake."

"Cake. Check."

"We can't go out to a bar."

"No bar. Check."

Dean frowned. "So what's left?"

"A little sad that the only thing we can think of to celebrate having our own home for five years is going to a bar," Sam said, trying to think of an alternative.

They fell silent for a few minutes, each pondering the possibilities.

Dean cleared his throat after a minute. "I'm trying to think of anything we actually celebrate."

"Birthdays?" Sam offered. "Sometimes."

"When we remember."

"Or when the world's not ending."

"Or that." Dean smiled.

"Maybe we could get something nice for the Bunker."

"Like a big screen tv?"

"Sure. We could do that."

Dean had been wanting a big screen tv for years. There was no reason they couldn't have gotten one by now.

"Really?" Dean's eyes lit up.

"Really. Let's get one." Sam allowed Dean to take the empty plate. "We can rearrange the map room and -"

"Not the map room." Dean shook his head. "We'll put it someplace better. Some place with a mini-fridge and a couch or something."

"So we're gonna be buying a couch and a mini-fridge too?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, we are." Dean nodded, getting up and readjusting the pillows. "I'm going to start pricing tv's out."

"Yeah?" Sam found himself flat on the bed again. He hadn't intended to amount to nothing all day, but going back to sleep was already sounding like a great plan.

"Yeah. Don't worry, I won't buy one till you have the chance to nerd out on all the technical details, ok?"

"You better not."

Dean adjusted the blanket, then said, "I'll do the research this time and you can choose from the top three."

Sam smiled, having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Get some sleep." Dean turned off the lamp, then walked to the door.

"Dean."

"Yeah?" He paused, backlit by the wash of light from the hallway.

"Happy Anniversary."

Dean's expression brightened into one of those truly thrilled, childlike smiles he only rarely displayed. He patted the door frame and said, "Happy Anniversary, Sammy."

Sam decided, once he was back on his feet, he would pick up a blueberry pie and an anniversary card.

Some things needed to be celebrated.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed! This was fun to write. I liked kind of giving a little "backstory" to the Dean-cave. :)**_

 _ **Next week: Season Five and a peek at the aftermath of "My Bloody Valentine."**_


	13. Chapter 13: Choices

**Good morning! Loved all of your notes for the last chapter. Thank you so much! It is kind of hard to believe it's been 5 (now 6) years since they moved into the Bunker. Time does fly! Also, for those of you wondering how Sam had been injured...it can be a choose your own adventure kind of thing lol. ;) I purposefully didn't make up a backstory, so feel free to create your own. :)**

 **I try to vary the order of these stories by season and genre but somehow wound up beating up on Sam twice in a row. oops. I'll try to do better. ;)**

 **This one is set after _"My Bloody Valentine."_ I never thought I'd write a tag to this episode because I've read SO many incredible stories based off of MBV. Obviously my plans changed because here's my tag! :) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Thirteen: Choices_**

 _Setting: Season Five, immediately following "My Bloody Valentine"_

* * *

"Any better today?"

Sam didn't answer.

"Need anything?" Dean asked just to fill the silence. He was standing awkwardly in the doorway and - as he'd been ever since Sam had begun the slow, painful road to recovery - completely at a loss.

Sam shook his head. He was staring at the wall and hadn't met Dean's gaze yet, something that was becoming too commonplace.

The torture of withdrawal was over but the torture of _recovery_ was tripping them both up.

It had been six days since the nightmare had begun.

For the first two days, Sam had been out of his head in the panic room doing just that: panic. He'd been unreachable. Delirious, hallucinating, terrified and confused. Dean had started drinking and roaming the junkyard trying to distance himself from his brother's screams and pain.

He'd only lasted five hours before he'd torn open the panic room door and done the exact opposite of what he'd done the last time Sam had gone through withdrawal; he _supported._

The entire experience was a blur in his mind. It had hurt him last time, but he'd been so angry he'd allowed that to carry him through so he didn't have to deal with what was happening on an emotional level. This time it hurt so much worse. The experience had come close to killing them both.

There'd been precious little he could do for his brother at first; Sam had been so far gone so fast that he hadn't even known Dean was in the room with him. Gradually, though, he found his way back and Dean could do a little good. Giving him water. Cleaning him up when he vomited it all back up again. Doing what he could to bring the raging fever down, to talk him through the terror and confusion. To hold onto him when he was close to teetering over the edge and begging to be left to die.

To pick him up and pull him out of the basement the very instant the worst was over.

Since then, it had been four days of trying to put the pieces back together.

Sam had been sick as a dog the first day out of the panic room. Confused and disoriented, he'd been unable to make any sense out of what had happened to him or where he was. He'd recognized Dean, though, and shamelessly clung to him and begged him not to leave.

The second day, he'd been a little more coherent. In one hushed conversation, Sam had admitted he'd pulled enough muscles that every movement hurt. Bobby'd rustled up some muscle relaxants; for all the good they did. Dean knew things were serious when Sam took every pill they offered him.

Narcotic pain relievers. The muscle relaxants. Even a sleeping pill last night because he'd been so uncomfortable sleep had been next to impossible. Dean gritted his teeth just thinking about it. Whiskey was their typical form of pharmaceutical healing. They both usually avoided taking any pills; whether from sheer stubbornness or the desire not to be compromised in case of danger.

This time, Sam had no such hesitation.

Yesterday, he'd still been too weak and in too much pain to move without help, but he'd remembered what had happened. That's when the shame had set in.

Today was the second day of him being too embarrassed to even look at Dean.

Sighing, Dean ran his hand through his hair. He should go take a shower. Just leave Sam alone for a little longer. It was going to take time, that's all there was to it.

He'd tried to be encouraging. Tried to convince his brother that he had nothing to feel bad about. Not that it helped. Nothing helped.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said softly, "I'll bring you back some breakfast, ok?"

No response. Sam wasn't talking and he wasn't eating and he wasn't doing much else, either.

Dean turned around and headed for the bathroom.

He managed to zone out while he was in the shower. Turning his mind off hadn't been easy the past week. By now, though, obviously his brain had reached its limit. It was kind of blissful, actually, to think about nothing and pretend, if only for a moment, that nothing terrible had happened.

When he got out of the shower, he was refreshed and a little more relaxed. He hadn't slept more than a couple hours at a time the past few days. Didn't expect to get more sleep than that for the foreseeable future.

Sighing, he finished getting dressed and ran his hands through his wet hair.

So much for feeling more relaxed.

His stomach growled, reminding him that lack of sleep wasn't his only problem. Hoping Bobby still had some eggs, he walked back to the bedroom. He peered into the room and found his brother sound asleep. Not pretending. Honestly sound asleep.

Dean left him alone and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was deserted and the coffee pot empty. Prioritizing, he started with coffee then went looking for food options. Thankfully, Bobby had eggs and bacon. Twenty minutes later, he'd finished his breakfast, was on his second cup of coffee and all but falling asleep where he sat.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he jumped at the sound of footsteps behind him. Turning around, he was shocked to see his brother standing in the doorway.

"Sam," he said, heart in his throat. He pushed himself to his feet.

"Hey."

Sam's voice was wrecked, he was clinging to the door frame, and Dean had no idea how he'd made it all the way downstairs on his own. The furthest from bed he'd been in the past couple of days was across the hall to the bathroom. With help.

"Come sit down." Dean closed the space between them.

Sam didn't resist when Dean grabbed his elbow. Once he was deposited in a chair, Dean felt a little better. Sam glanced up at him with bleary, unfocused eyes. The first time he'd initiated eye contact in two days. _Progress._

"You hungry?" Dean asked when Sam didn't say anything.

"No."

Dean sighed. Reminding himself to be patient, he sat down across from his brother and took a sip of coffee. Sam watched him for a minute, then his gaze drifted around the kitchen. Dean gave him a full minute before he spoke up again.

"Last I saw, you were sleeping."

Sam glanced at him and shrugged.

 _Well, this is a fun conversation._

Dean took another sip of coffee, then almost choked on it when Sam started pushing himself to his feet. Thumping the cup onto the table, Dean asked, "Hey, where're you going?"

Sam sat back down. He looked a little surprised; as if maybe he hadn't meant to sit down again. Instead of answering the question, though, he just closed his eyes.

"What do you need, Sam?" Dean prompted gently.

"Water." Sam looked toward the sink.

"I'll get it."

"I can do it."

"You sound like you're three." Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam's glare was as weak as he was, but Dean wanted to sing for joy because it was a good sign. Annoyance was so much better than defeat and shame. Dean got up and filled a glass with water, then set it in front of his brother. Picking up his coffee cup, Dean filled it again, then sat down. He waited until Sam had taken a few sips of water before he spoke up.

"How're you doing?"

"I…" Sam's voice trailed off.

He sat there so long Dean began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. Once again working on his patience, Dean kept his mouth shut and waited. It took almost a full minute before Sam finished his statement.

"...don't know." He shook his head, trying for a smile but it turned out to be more of a grimace.

Dean tried for a smile too and doubted he'd pulled it off any more than Sam had, but hey, it was the thought that counted. He asked, "Headache?"

"Yeah."

"Sick to your stomach?"

"Yeah."

"Everything still hurts?"

Sam nodded. He took another sip of water; it looked like it hurt to even do that.

"You want some meds?" Dean glanced at his watch. "Last time you took anything was around two this morning."

He waited until Sam nodded again, then got up and went through the collection of pill bottles on the counter.

Selecting the right ones, he said, "You need to try to eat something."

Sam didn't say anything.

"I can scramble some more eggs," Dean said, bringing the pills to the table. "Probably can throw together pancakes. Or I can just do toast."

"Not toast," Sam mumbled, holding his hand out for the pills.

"Ok." Dean leaned a hip against the table, arms crossed as he watched his brother painfully take the pills. "You gotta eat something, you look like you're gonna pass out. How about peanut butter on plain bread?"

Sam took a deep breath, pondering the question as if he'd just been asked to quote _The Iliad_ by heart. Backwards. Even simple things were difficult right now.

Finally, he nodded and said, "I'll try."

 _Halle-lu-jah!_

Smiling to himself, Dean turned away to spread some peanut butter on a piece of bread. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He put the plate in front of his brother, then sat back down.

It took a minute before Sam gathered enough strength to even pick up the slice of bread. Dean couldn't think of anything to say and tried not to stare. He grabbed the newspaper and started flipping through it even though he'd already read it front and back three times. He'd read the entire thing again before Sam pushed the plate away.

Dean glanced up, heart sinking when he saw that Sam had only eaten half the piece of bread. It was something, he reminded himself. It was something. Sam was slumped back in the chair and looked half asleep.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"How you doin'?"

It took a minute for Sam to respond. "I'm tired."

"Go back to bed," Dean said. _Easy problem to solve._

"I think I'm too tired to get back upstairs." He wasn't trying to be funny.

Dean nodded. "How about the couch?"

Sam sighed. "I should do something."

"Something?"

"I've been sidelining us-"

"Give yourself a break, man. You're basically getting over the worst flu ever."

"It wasn't the flu," Sam said softly, staring at the table.

"You're right. It wasn't the flu." Dean paused, then added, "It also wasn't your fault."

Sam didn't look at him or say anything.

Dean tightened his grip on his coffee cup, trying to think of something helpful to say. He was still thinking when Sam wearily struggled to his feet. Starting to rise, Dean stilled when Sam held up a hand and shook his head. He turned and walked away without a word.

Cursing under his breath, Dean watched him go.

He sat there helplessly until Sam disappeared. Then he went to the sink and turned on the water. While the sink filled, he grabbed the dishes from the table. He tipped the leftover bread into the garbage then dropped the plate into the water. There were dishes stacked up on both sides of the sink which was surprising since he barely remembered eating anything over the past week.

Pouring a generous amount of soap into the sink, he got to work.

The mundane task did wonders for his overwhelmed mind. He dried the last dish and stared at the spotless kitchen. The worry was still there, but it was muted; back to a manageable level. His blood pressure must have dropped several points because his head wasn't pounding anymore. Hands pressed against the counter, he lowered his head for a moment and just breathed.

When he straightened, the weight was a little lighter on his back and he was calm.

A glance at his watch revealed an hour had passed. _An hour._ He snorted, mopping up the last drips on the counter. He'd just stood there washing dishes for an hour.

"Next you'll be taking up knitting," he muttered to himself, throwing the dishrag aside and turning around.

An hour had passed and it was time to check on his brother. Hoping Sam had managed some sleep, he quietly walked into the living room.

And found it empty.

"What the hell?"

Glancing around, he looked back at the couch. Still empty. Wonderful. This whole time he'd been zoning out and washing dishes, his brother hadn't been sleeping peacefully on the couch. Which led inevitably to the most important question.

If he hadn't been sleeping on the couch, where was he?

Pulse quickening, Dean spun in a circle. The door was closed. Locked. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. For one brief moment, he wondered if he should check the panic room. Instead, he headed upstairs. The rising tide of panic drifted peacefully back out to sea when he reached the landing.

Sam was sitting in the hallway, just outside the bathroom, his back to the wall. He glanced over while Dean was struggling to form a sentence.

"I know it's not my fault," Sam said so quietly Dean almost missed it.

"What?" Dean shook his head, crossing the space between them and trying to decide if he needed to worry or not.

"What happened. I know, technically, it wasn't my fault."

Dean held his breath.

Sam looked away, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair was wet and dripping down his neck. He'd changed into a fresh shirt and jeans and was even wearing shoes which made Dean wonder if he'd been planning to go somewhere and hadn't made it further than the hall. He looked utterly wiped out.

Crouching down next to him, Dean frowned and said, "Sam, it _wasn't_ your fault. It was Famine and-"

"But it's in me and I can't change that," Sam interrupted, his gaze and his voice far away. "I can't fix it. I never had a choice, Dean. It was always going to be this way."

And suddenly, it was about so much more than Famine and a bunch of demons forcing their blood on his brother. It was about the much larger issue and Sam had obviously stewed over everything until he'd reached his final conclusion. A conclusion that terrified Dean because it sounded an awful lot like he was giving up.

 _It was always going to be this way._

After spending months picking themselves up and putting each other back together and learning to trust each other again, the bottom had fallen out of their world. Just when things had been going better and Dean had dared hope they were going to be ok, everything had gone south as usual. Now he was back to picking up pieces and trying to pretend he had enough hope for the both of them.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head and said, "No. You _do_ have choices and you always have. You've never let anyone push you around."

Sam looked at him, but his eyes were bleak. Resigned. Unconvinced.

"They knocked you down, sure," Dean continued, "but you're not giving up now."

"Dean…"

"This was done _to_ you." Dean grabbed his shoulder and squeezed until it must have hurt. Sam tried to pull away, but he didn't let him. "This wasn't your choice and it has nothing to do with any damn destiny or any weakness on your part. Do you hear me? They did this _to_ you."

Dean let up a little on the pressure, but didn't stop staring at his brother, trying with everything he had to convince him. Sam didn't answer, just took a shaky breath, then closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. Heart splintering, Dean sat down on the hardwood floor and wrapped his arms around his brother.

Sam didn't resist; just collapsed against him, head heavy against Dean's collarbone, arms limp at his sides. Wet hair tickling his chin, Dean rested his hand on the back of Sam's neck. He was running a fever again; either from the stress his body had been through or because he was coming down with something. Either way he was miserable.

Thunder rumbled in the near distance and rain began tapping on the roof. Dean stared into the bedroom across from them, watching the rain falling beyond the window. His collar was damp, but Sam was quiet, lax against his side. Breathing. Alive. Dean tightened his grip as if he could hold them both together somehow.

"Sammy," he whispered, not able to think of anything else to say.

The rain pounded louder on the roof and for a moment, the pressure of everything they had to face in the coming days nearly crushed him. They were in so much trouble. There was so much that needed to be done and he didn't know how to do any of it. The despair began to drown him as he sat there.

And then Sam shifted slightly. His fingers twisted in Dean's shirt. He didn't say anything and he didn't move and it was enough. Enough to tell Dean he wasn't alone in this. He pressed his hand to the back of Sam's head in silent acknowledgement and Sam sighed heavily, the last bit of tension leaving his body.

Maybe the world was about to end.

Maybe they would go down with it.

For now, though, everything could take a number. They needed a minute.

The apocalypse and the entire bloody world owed them this much.

So Dean closed his eyes and held on for dear life.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14: Extra Chairs

**_Chapter Fourteen: Extra Chairs_**

 _Setting: Season Thirteen, a week after "Scooby-natural"_

* * *

It was close to a week after Dean had first presented his "Dean Cave" before they actually used it. Well, other than the time they wound up in an episode of _Scooby Doo;_ something Sam had yet to wrap his brain around. It was one of those things that was probably best if he _didn't_ try to wrap his brain around, actually.

He was in the middle of a translation, stressed to his breaking point from hours of getting nowhere, had a pinch in his back and a pounding headache when Dean returned from his shopping trip and deposited a paper bag full of groceries directly on top of the translation.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, his temper as shot as his concentration. "I was in the middle-"

"Of losing your mind," Dean interjected smoothly.

Sam tried to push the bags off of his work, only to have his brother pull him and his chair away from the table.

"Get up. Come on."

"Dean, I don't have time for-"

"Sure you do. Come on. You can carry this."

The paper bag was shoved into his arms and he would have punched his brother if he'd had a free hand.

Instead, he said, "You can put the groceries away on your-"

"Get up." Dean leaned into his personal space and said, "Don't make me say it again."

Sam snorted. "I'm not five and you can't-"

"Now." Dean had a hand around his arm and was pulling him to his feet despite Sam's protests.

"Will you let me finish a sentence?"

Dean grinned. "You just did. Now, come on."

"Dean." Sam glared at him, standing there with a grocery bag in his arms.

"You've been sitting there all day. I've seen you stand up exactly _twice_ since you first sat down," Dean said, not even trying to disguise his worry. "And you sat down at six this morning."

Sam opened his mouth to deny it, but honestly didn't remember if he _had_ stood up more than twice all day. Suddenly, the backache made much more sense.

"You've barely eaten and it's almost eight o'clock. At _night,_ " Dean stressed. "It's time for a break."

"Just make me a sandwich." Sam glanced at his watch. He'd had no clue it was getting so late.

Holding up a bag of Chinese takeout, Dean shook his head.

"Fine. Then give me mine and-"

"Sam."

"What?"

"The translation can wait. You need a break."

Sam sighed, watching Dean walk away with the takeout. It smelled amazing and suddenly he was starving. Without another look at the translation, he followed his brother. He wasn't taking a chance on Dean deciding to eat more than his fair share of the eggrolls.

"Why can't we just eat back there?" Sam griped, dutifully trailing along as Dean led the way through the twisted halls of the bunker.

"We have a better place to eat," Dean said, shooting a grin over his shoulder.

Sam resigned himself to his fate, the smell of orange chicken ensuring he'd follow his brother to the ends of the earth.

Instead of the ends of the earth, though, he found himself led to the "Dean Cave." Or "Fortress of Dean-itude." Dean still hadn't made up his mind.

He couldn't help but smile as Dean bustled around, setting the bag of takeout on the small table between the recliners. Sam glanced into the bag he was carrying and found a cherry pie staring back at him. Setting the bag next to one of the recliners, he watched Dean pull a couple bottles of beer from their very own mini-fridge. Handing one off, Dean sat down and grabbed the remote and turned their brand new TV on. After the other TV, haunted as it may have been, had wound up smashed to pieces, they'd gone out and found a new one.

It wasn't free. But it also wasn't likely to suck them into a cartoon.

Sam sat down, took a drink of his beer, then started setting up their little Chinese buffet on the table between them. He'd already devoured his first egg roll by the time Dean had selected the correct episode of _Elementary._ Admitting this had been a good idea would be admitting his brother was right and Sam didn't like to make a habit of doing that.

At least not too often.

Even so, he relaxed as they enjoyed their dinner and attempted to solve the crime before Sherlock and Watson did.

They were starting their six or seventh episode and Dean was on his second piece of pie when Sam found himself considering the fact there were only two chairs in the room. He might have been a bit drunk; he'd lost count of how many bottles of beer Dean had handed him over the course of the evening. Or maybe he was just tired. Either way, trying to sort out the logistics of the lack of furniture boggled his mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Dean asked suddenly, pausing the episode.

"Huh?" Sam blinked at him in the blue glow of the tv.

"You look like your head is going to explode. You're thinking hard about something. What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to figure out if we have extra chairs."

"For what?" Dean licked cherry pie off his finger. He looked completely comfortable and content.

"For if we're watching a movie. With Cas. Or when we get Jack and Mom back."

"We don't need extra chairs."

"What about when we have company?"

"It's not _for_ company," Dean said, shaking his head. He rubbed his fingers against the arm of the recliner. "It's for _us._ "

And then he turned the episode back on and Sam couldn't help but grin.

* * *

 **Just something short and sweet to get the week started right. :)**

 **I'm not sure if I'll be posting next week or not. But I have a little something special I'm "cooking" up for Thanksgiving the following week. ;)**

 **Have a great day and a wonderful week!**


	15. Chapter 15: Flowers

**_Chapter Fifteen: Flowers_**

 _Setting: Season One, a day after they left Stanford_

* * *

Queen Anne's lace bloomed to Sam's right, like a pile of snow.

Watching from the car, Dean grimaced as Sam grabbed a handful and ripped them up from the roots. It was a violent disruption to what had, seconds ago, been an idyllic scene. Groaning at the pulsing headache, Dean straightened up in the seat and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the time.

Way. Too. Early.

It was ten to five and the sun was just barely lighting the far edge of the field. They were broke and they'd pulled over for a quick nap on the side of the road. Ironic since neither of them had done much napping. Only moments after Dean had closed his eyes, the passenger door had opened and there went any hope of getting sleep.

He'd tried to ignore the nagging worry that had screamed at him to check on his brother. Ignoring had worked for all of ten minutes. The sight of Sam sitting in the grass, tearing flowers apart wasn't doing much for allaying his concerns. Settling back with his head against the window, Dean pressed his knuckles to his eyes and all he could see was flames and all he could hear was his brother shouting for Jessica.

Sitting up abruptly sent fresh jolts of pain through his head, but there would be no return to sleep for him now. If _he_ was visualizing that scene, feeling the heat from the fire, it was no wonder Sam wasn't sleeping these days. Fumbling for a bottle of water, Dean took some ibuprofen like he should have done hours ago. He'd driven for nearly twelve hours and his back and shoulders were tight bundles of painful stiffness.

Dean rubbed his eyes again, then took a deep breath and pushed the car door open. He didn't have a clue what to do to fix the problem but ignoring it wasn't making it go away; Sam's newfound gardening hobby was testament to that. So he got out of the car and started making his way to his brother.

Sam just sat there, tearing at the flowers. There was no method to the madness. He yanked the flowers from the roots sometimes and other times merely tore their white blooms off at the head. A few random yellow flowers, Black Eyed Susan or something like that, lay scattered amongst the snowy blossoms.

It was done absently. Distractedly. Just like everything he'd been doing ever since Jessica had died. He was on some kind of shock-induced autopilot. Dean gritted his teeth just thinking about it; it was the same kind of detached numbness he'd seen in countless victims on hunts he'd done over the years.

Leaning against a tree, Dean sighed and stared at the grass under his boots. Not looking at the miserable scene before him didn't make it any less real. Didn't make it hurt any less. Headache throbbing with renewed vigor, Dean spent a few seconds pretending he wasn't standing in a field watching his brother not so slowly losing his mind.

Considering they'd left Stanford yesterday after days of finding no leads on what had killed Jessica, it really wasn't surprising that Sam was having pretty much the worst day ever.

Dean sighed again and forced himself to refocus. Of course, focusing was more than a little difficult considering his headache and lack of sleep. Shifting uncomfortably, Dean stared at the dark trees beyond the field. It was a little chilly and a lot early and he spent another few moments trying to convince himself just to go back to the car and get some sleep.

As hard as he tried, though, he couldn't just leave his brother sitting alone in the early light of dawn, heart broken and bleeding, picking flowers.

Dean crossed the space between them and eased himself onto the grass next to his brother. He didn't have a clue what to say, so he kept his mouth shut. No point in making things worse than they already were with a bunch of empty platitudes.

Sam didn't say anything when Dean sat down, just kept wrenching flowers off their stems with his right hand. His left hand was tightened in a fist against the soil next to him.

There was no breeze, no sound of traffic from the two-lane road behind them. Just the sound of words not spoken and wildflowers being torn from the dirt.

Dean was nearly asleep where he sat when Sam finally stopped tearing flowers.

Yawning, Dean glanced to his right. Sam had shifted, his arms crossed over his knees, head down on his arms. A few yellow petals fell from his fingertips.

"Do you wanna talk about...uh...anything?" Dean floundered, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of the field.

Sam shook his head; didn't look up.

Dean wasn't surprised. He'd assumed as much. Remaining silent, he couldn't help but notice the circle of death Sam had surrounded himself with. All the flowers around him had been uprooted and torn into floral confetti. Might have looked good at a wedding, but here it just looked like heartbreak.

Heartbreak and misery.

Dean's butt was cold. His back was sore. His head still hurt and now he was hungry. An all night diner with hot pancakes was the only thing in the world he wanted.

Well, other than wanting his brother to not be 1,000% miserable. Didn't look like he was getting either of his wishes, though. They were at least fifty miles from the nearest diner and Sam seemed about a million miles from anything resembling happiness.

So Dean did the only thing he could do.

He stayed where he was to remind his brother that he wasn't alone.

The sun was just cresting the tips of the trees when the stiffness went out of Sam's posture and he leaned heavily against Dean. Shifting, Dean settled his arm around his brother's shoulders. Instead of pulling away, Sam leaned into the contact.

Maybe Dean didn't have much to offer, but maybe it was enough.

* * *

 _Hello everyone! I'm not dead nor have I abandoned writing lol. Sorry it has been forever and ever since I've been around. I've been writing more and more and slowly building up some stuff to get posting again. But it's been very slow progress. Sorry for the long delay, especially on the poor Christmas story. I have not abandoned it, either, promise!_

 _Don't know when I'll be posting anything next, but I'm really hoping to get back on track and not be gone so long again!_

 _happened to stumble across this as I was browsing my files today. Had completely forgotten I'd written it. It was originally a 100 word "prompt" from a friend way back in March to try to get me writing again. I played around with it and today got it finalized and decided to post it. :)_

 _Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and for your patience!_


	16. Chapter 16: Monkeys

_**Chapter 16: Monkeys**_

 _Setting: Season 11, set between episode 7 (Plush) and episode 8 (Just My Imagination)_

* * *

"There's blood on your hands." Dean sounded weaker than he had mere seconds ago and his eyes drifted closed.

"It's yours." Sam swallowed hard. Dean's face had gone another shade paler.

"Oh." His eyes fluttered open again and he looked down at Sam's hands. "There's a lot."

"Yeah. There is."

Dean smiled, but it wasn't reassuring. His eyes were glazed, vacant, barely open. He was completely lax against the dusty floor of the warehouse, his blood pooling warmly beneath Sam's knees and pulsing against his fingers. Dean took a ragged breath before speaking.

"You ok?"

"Not a scratch," Sam assured him. It was the truth. No scratches. Just a lot of bruises.

"At least this time you won't have to find an excuse to cover things up."

"What?" Sam frowned.

"We can blame it on the tornado."

"It _was_ the tornado," Sam said, shaking his head and longing to hear sirens.

"Oh. Yeah."

Sam's panic escalated another degree as his brother's eyes slid closed again.

"Hey, Dean, stay with me," he urged, knowing they were losing ground as rapidly as Dean was losing blood.

Sam peered at the makeshift dressing he'd fastened around the gash in Dean's right thigh. The piece of metal stuck out obscenely and the sight of it had turned Dean's stomach inside out when he'd first registered the injury. Or maybe it had been the blood loss.

The blood was still flowing despite the bandage and tourniquet.

"Dean?" Sam called again, gaze returning to his brother's slack features.

"Hmm?"

"Open your eyes."

Dean's face tightened in a frown and he mumbled, "I'm tired."

"I know you are, man, but you can _not_ go to sleep right now."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We should go."

Sam shook his head. "We _can't_ go. You can't move. Gotta wait for the ambulance."

Dean forced his eyes open wide and lifted his head half an inch to peer at his leg. He thumped his head back down and mumbled, "Skewered."

Despite the circumstances, Sam couldn't help but laugh at his brother's description.

"You're ok?" Dean asked again, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"I'm fine."

"Good. Guess I should've run faster."

Sam's heart clenched as he remembered their mad dash through the abandoned warehouse.

The weather had sucked all day, but the tornado warning had surprised them. The fact the tornado appeared a block up the road from them had surprised them even more.

They'd been in the warehouse on the edge of town wrapping up a case when they'd heard it. A rush of wind that was a cross between the sound of a freight train and of a massive waterfall. Stepping outside, they'd been nearly blown over. Taking one glance at the ominous spiral tearing up the road towards them, they'd turned tail and run back into the warehouse. Not an ideal shelter by any means, but better than being out in the open.

Like an explosion had gone off, they'd been thrown across the warehouse. Pummeled by debris, they'd tried to get to the small, interior office but never quite made it. Dean had been behind him and had fallen against Sam mid-way there. He'd caught a massive shard of scrap metal to the leg and gone down like a rock.

Mercifully, the tornado had continued wailing on its way past without blowing the whole building down around them.

Shaking himself from the shock of what had just happened, Sam had taken one look at Dean and known immediately that this wasn't something he was going to be able to fix with some motel room surgery. It had missed the femoral artery - the only reason Dean was still alive - but the metal was in _deep._ So Sam had done some hasty first aid, called an ambulance, elevated his brother's legs on a chair, and started praying.

He kept that to himself, though.

Dean wasn't too thrilled with his prayers these days; or at least not with the responses he was getting. Well, Sam wasn't too thrilled either. Like, at _all._ He had enough nightmares about the cage as it was. Didn't need to have any new reasons to think about it. And yet, he couldn't stop.

Biting his lip, he glanced at his watch.

It had only been about twenty minutes since the tornado had hit, but it seemed like a lot longer. He really needed to hear sirens _soon._ They were running out of time.

"Dean?" Sam called, heart in his throat.

He received a pained groan in response. It was something.

"I know, man. You gotta hang in there."

"You...hang in there," Dean mumbled, squinting at him with one eye. "Sam."

"Yeah?"

Dean forced both eyes open and, despite the sluggishness borne of blood loss, he was completely coherent as he said, "Don't do anything stupid."

There were so many things Dean might mean by that statement, but Sam knew exactly what he was talking about. His visions. The cage.

"I'm not gonna do anything stupid," Sam said, putting more pressure on the wound and wondering if he was imagining the sirens in the distance.

"Hmm." Dean didn't sound like he was buying it.

"Look, man, now's not the time."

"Might be all...the time I got," Dean whispered, forcing bleary eyes open for a split second.

It was like a punch to the gut, that fear Sam saw in his eyes right then.

Shaking his head, Sam said, "No, no, no. You do not get to think like that. You're gonna be fine. The ambulance is almost here. You're gonna be bitching at me from a hospital bed in no time."

Dean shook his head slightly against the scuffed hardwood.

"Don't you dare shake your head."

"Grumpy." Dean forced an eye open again. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Dean said, "If I live, I expect breakfast in bed for a week."

"Deal." Sam didn't hesitate. He'd deliver breakfast in bed for a _year_ if that was what it took.

Dean grinned, looking mighty proud of himself considering he couldn't keep his eyes open.

The beautiful sound of a siren drew Sam's attention and he stared out the gutted front of the warehouse as an ambulance pulled up the rutted driveway. He couldn't see the Impala from where he knelt and all he could do was hope it wasn't in pieces. It was a testament to how badly Dean was injured that he hadn't once asked about his Baby. The thought scared Sam, but the sight of that ambulance helped diminish the fear.

Relief coursing through his veins, Sam looked back at his brother. The relief bled out of him faster than Dean's blood was running over his hands.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

But it was pointless. Dean was out for the count. Sam fumbled a bloody hand against Dean's throat, reassured to still feel a steady beat. And then he looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Questions and reassurances were thrown his way in a blur of words. The questions were fairly simple, the reassurances fairly standard. He relinquished control to the paramedics, hovering a few feet away with blood dripping from his hands, his entire body shaking. After a moment, he pulled himself together enough to wipe his hands on his jeans. He watched as the paramedics worked efficiently to stabilize the shard of metal. They started a couple IV drips and moved Dean to the stretcher.

"Sir?"

Sam tore his eyes off his brother and met the concerned gaze leveled his way.

"I asked if you're injured," the paramedic said.

"No, no, I'm ok."

"Alright. We're moving out."

Sam nodded, stumbling over debris as he followed them to the door. While they were getting the stretcher to the ambulance, Sam did a hasty check of the Impala. Everything was in working order as far as he could see. Didn't even notice any scratches which was a miracle. The car started and he declined the offer of a ride. As much as he wanted to be near his brother and ensure he was clinging to life, there was no way he was leaving his brother's car out here.

Because Dean was going to be fine and Sam would never hear the end of it if he left the Impala abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

So he simply followed the ambulance to the hospital.

* * *

By the time he was reunited with his brother, Dean was flying high on painkillers and in a truly fantastic mood.

"S'mmy, was like that thing in...in that movie," were Dean's first slurred words when Sam walked into his line of sight.

Sam's eyes widened as surprise and relief filled him in equal measure. He asked, "What thing? What movie?"

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically and flopped his hand back and forth as if that would somehow jog Sam's memory as to what movie he was obscurely referring to. He grinned and said, "Y'know. Monkeys!"

"Monkeys?" Sam repeated, exchanging a brief glance with the nurse. She smiled and shrugged, then returned to adjusting the settings on the IV pump. Sam shook his head and took another step closer to his brother's side. "Are you talking about _Planet of the Apes_?"

"No." Dean looked shocked. He narrowed his eyes. "Are we?"

 _Oh boy._

Sam smiled and patted his brother's shoulder. Time to switch subjects. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

" _Fan-damn-tastic_!"

The nurse muffled a laugh.

"I bet you are," Sam said, a little rueful knowing the pain-free bliss wouldn't last. "So I talked to your doctor-"

"She's _hot._ " Dean's eyes were wide as saucers.

The nurse couldn't muffle her laugh this time.

Sam had a hard time smothering his own.

Dean was oblivious as he frowned and continued, "She's seriously hot. Sweaty. I dunno, you think she works out?"

"What, between patients?" Sam asked, exchanging another amused glance with the nurse. "Dean, I'm sure she's really busy. You know, taking metal out of people's legs. That sort of thing."

"Sort of thing." Dean snorted in derision.

The nurse left the room laughing and Sam couldn't help himself either.

Dean frowned, obviously attempting to keep up. "Wh's funny?"

Sam patted his shoulder again and said, "Just glad you're alright. You had me worried."

"Pfft." Dean scoffed, flopping his hand again. "Dunno why."

 _Why? Maybe because you had a huge piece of metal embedded in your leg. Maybe because you were bleeding out all over my hands. Maybe because this wasn't something I could fix._

Instead of saying any of that, though, Sam just said, "Your doctor said you're gonna be alright. No permanent damage. No surgery. Just a _lot_ of stitches."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then blinked.

While Dean's drug-addled brain attempted to process what had just been said, Sam took the opportunity to assess his brother.

There was a little more color in his face and he was obviously conscious, if not quite coherent. A couple IVs running fluids and blood. Right leg wrapped in bandages and elevated on a small pile of pillows. Fifty-something stitches holding the torn muscle and flesh back together. Too much longer waiting in that torn up warehouse and he wouldn't have made it.

 _Alive. He's alive._

"S'mmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I rem'mber th' stitches."

"I'm sure you do." Sam smiled, pulling a chair over to the side of the bed and taking a seat. "You hurting?"

"Nope." Dean grinned, then motioned for Sam to come closer. Once he had, Dean whispered loudly, "But I will be later."

And then he broke out laughing.

Sam smiled, but didn't find it anywhere near as funny. Dean was right. He _was_ going to be hurting later and that wasn't something either of them were going to enjoy. But, for now, Dean was comfortable and that was good enough. A few more hours of recovery time and fluids, then they could get back on the road. It was a five hour drive back to the Bunker and whether they made it all the way or had to stop at a motel remained to be determined.

"Sam."

"What?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, then widened them like he couldn't quite focus. Not unexpected since he was high on whatever painkiller they'd given him. He frowned and said, "I can't rem'mber the movie."

 _Back to that again._

"What movie?"

"The one," Dean said, like it explained everything.

"Oh, that one," Sam replied, amusement beginning to edge out the pulse-pounding fear that had been battering him ever since he'd first caught sight of that metal in Dean's leg.

"Yeah!" Dean grinned, lifting his head off the pillow for a split second before flopping weakly back down. "I knew you'd know."

"Man, whatever they gave you must be amazing because you are completely out of your head."

Dean snickered, then said, "I'm gonna hate myself later."

"I'm sure you will."

"How long?"

"Until?"

"Until Christmas." Dean rolled his eyes, motioning vaguely around the room. "Till we blow this popsicle stand?"

"A few hours."

"Well, that sucks."

Sam was the one snickering this time. He shook his head. "Dude, considering what happened, I think a few more hours isn't so bad."

"Were we...were we huntin' something?" Dean whispered so loudly that Sam figured everyone in the ER had heard him.

"No. We were finishing up and on our way home." He left the _from a hunt_ unspoken, hoping his brother would get it.

He didn't.

"Home from a hunt?" He whisper-yelled.

"Can you try to be a bit quieter? Yes, from a hunt."

"Thought so!" Dean slapped his arm. He looked smug for whatever reason. "Hey."

"Hm?"

"You ok?"

Sam smiled. "Yes."

Dean's eyes narrowed again. "Yes?"

"Yes. Not even a scratch."

"Lucky you. I had a piece of metal this big," he demonstrated with shaking hands, "in my _leg._ Stickin' straight out."

"I haven't forgotten." And he probably never would.

"It was stickin' straight out! It was...uh…"

His voice trailed off as his face went green.

"Hey, hey," Sam said, leaning forward. "Hey, stop thinking about it. Come on, breathe. That's it, another breath."

Dean's fingers dug into his arm and he was swallowing hard. Sam hit the call light, then the button to elevate the head of the bed. The color had gone completely out of Dean's face by now and Sam started searching for something for him to throw up in because apparently that was going to happen whether they wanted it to or not.

Sam tore his gaze from his brother as the nurse from earlier walked into the room. The expressions on their faces must have made things very clear to her because she went straight for a basin. Once she'd handed it to Sam, she hurried to the sink and soaked a washcloth. Dean's hands were clenched around the edges of the basin, but he was shaking so much that Sam didn't relinquish his grip.

The nurse settled the washcloth against the back of Dean's neck and said softly, "I can get him something for the nausea."

"Thank you," Sam said, nodding, but not taking his eyes off his brother.

Once she'd moved away, Dean groaned. His breathing was off as he gagged over the basin and tried not to throw up.

"Take a slow breath, Dean. Come on, easy."

Dean managed to shoot him a glare; his expression clearly saying _shut the hell up._

Sam did. He just held onto the basin and waited.

* * *

The medication worked wonders.

Dean snored through the rest of the IV fluids while Sam found himself disturbingly engrossed in a truly terrible made for TV movie. Thankfully it ended before Dean woke up. Sam had just changed the channel to a random sporting event when Dean began stirring. Before Dean was even fully awake, the doctor walked into the room and, a few minutes later, they were given the green light for discharge.

It was after eight by the time the discharge process was finished and, despite Sam's suggestion of getting a motel room for the night, Dean insisted he was fine to make the five hour trip home.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam asked for the fourth time once they were both settled in the Impala.

"Yes. So stop asking."

Sam kept his mouth shut and started the car. Dean had gone from giddy to grumpy after his nap. Obviously the dose of painkiller he'd been given just before he'd been discharged hadn't kicked in yet. Sam was really hoping it would start working sooner rather than later. A five hour drive with Dean in a bad mood would feel more like a fifty hour drive and Sam was too tired for that.

It had been a long week. The hunt hadn't been difficult, but hadn't exactly been easy, either. Of course, it was the tornado-induced adrenaline rush coupled with serious injury-induced panic that left him more than ready to find a convenient place to crash for the night. Since he wasn't going to get to crash for several hours, he took a drink of the extra large coffee he'd picked up on the way out of the hospital. It wasn't good coffee. But it _did_ contain caffeine and that was all he could ask for at the moment.

Sam made it five miles before he took an assessing glance at his brother.

Arms crossed over his chest, Dean had his head down and eyes closed. He couldn't possibly be comfortable sitting there, but he'd not so politely refused to lay down in the back seat. Sam had surrendered quickly and Dean had griped and grouched once he'd been seated in the front. Already, though, he seemed to be drifting toward sleep.

Turning his attention back to the road, Sam hoped he _would_ fall asleep. If Dean was asleep, he wouldn't be griping. If he was asleep, he also wouldn't be hurting. At least he wouldn't be aware enough to know he was hurting.

Sam couldn't help but glance at his brother's leg. His jeans had been a total loss and the bulky bandages around his right thigh were stretching out even the loose sweatpants he was wearing. Sam had yet to see the actual wound since it had been stitched and bandaged, but had a handout of instructions for care. Not like they didn't know all of it, but he took the information anyway.

He'd filled the antibiotic and painkiller prescriptions before they'd left the hospital. All he had to do was get them home and get Dean into bed. Sam took another drink of his coffee and turned on the brights as he drove down the two-lane back highway that would eventually lead them home.

Fifteen miles passed in complete silence and Sam made it that far before he turned to assess his brother again. The lines of pain around his eyes were relaxed and his head was tilted against the window, arms gone lax. Asleep. Some of the tension drained out of Sam's shoulders at the sight.

Even so, he couldn't help but think about how close this had been. It seemed unfair, with all the insanity they faced in their lives, that something as natural as a tornado might have taken Dean from him. It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about it. They had just barely pulled through after the fiasco with the Mark of Cain, and were attempting to sort out the fiasco with Amara. The thought of losing his brother always gave him nightmares, but going through something like this made it all seem even more real.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Charlie so many months ago that he couldn't do this life without his brother. That he didn't _want_ to. Dean had become a demon, then dealt with the ongoing issue of the Mark and Sam hadn't wanted to do the job. Had barely been _able_ to do the job. He'd only done the job to save his brother. So yeah, the thought of losing his brother in a freak tornado would give him nightmares for months to come.

Sam took another sip of coffee as if it could wash away the memories of Dean's warm blood flowing over his fingers. He'd changed out of his bloodstained jeans, but could still feel the blood soaking into his knees.

The glare of oncoming headlights brought his focus back to the present and he concentrated on the drive for the next few hours. Sam managed a stop for gas, a bathroom break, and coffee without disturbing his brother. They were still an hour and a half from the Bunker when Dean finally did wake up.

"Hey," Sam said softly as Dean shifted in his seat. "How're you doing?"

Dean yawned, not lifting his head from the window. He struggled to keep his eyes open as he mumbled, "Damn monkeys."

Sam's jaw dropped and he didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned. He settled for asking, "Uh, what are you talking about?"

"Can't stop seein' 'em," was Dean's unhelpful non-answer. He laboriously lifted his head, blearily staring down at his leg. He poked at his thigh with one finger and said, "Got skewered."

"Yeah. You did. Is your leg hurting?"

Dean looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, motioned to his leg and said, "Skewered."

"I'll take that as a yes." Sam smiled. The medication was worth every penny he'd paid for it.

"Yes. It's a yes." His words were slipping and sliding together again. "Yes, yes, yes. Why wouldn't it hurt? Got skewered."

Sam checked his watch. "Well, it's too soon for your next dose. Stop poking your leg."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted, grimacing as he moved his leg.

"You need to get out and move around a little?"

"Not sure I can stand."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"How far?"

"Hour and a half."

Dean groaned.

"Next gas station, we'll pull off."

"Just drive." Dean mumbled around another yawn. "Let's get home."

Sam considered arguing, tried to determine whether he should override his brother's decision or not bother.

"I should've run faster." Dean was poking at his leg again.

"You did the best you could."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't get skewered."

Sam smiled a little at the whining.

"Can't believe Baby didn't get a scratch."

"I can't either."

Dean rubbed his leg and said, "This is why we live underground."

"To avoid tornadoes?"

"Yes. And th'monkeys." Dean's words were slurring again and he was glaring at the ceiling. "Hate th'monkeys."

"What is it with you and monkeys all of a sudden?"

"Keep dreamin' of 'em." His eyes were slowly blinking like he couldn't quite keep them open. "Hate 'em, S'mmy. Hate 'em."

It was great material to tease his brother with for days to come, but he sounded so distressed that Sam didn't have the heart to tease him.

Yet.

"Why are you dreaming about monkeys?" he asked, completely mystified.

"Y'know."

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking."

"It's that movie." Dean tilted his head and shot him an annoyed look.

 _Back to that again._

Since they'd never really ironed it out at the hospital and didn't have anything better to do right now, Sam said, "You're gonna have to be more specific. I'm having trouble following your drug-addled thought processes."

"You're addled."

"That is a terrible comeback."

"Hate you."

"Why? Because I can't read your drug-addled mind?" Sam laughed.

"It's just right there," Dean muttered, pressing his left hand against his eyes, his right resting against his thigh. "I can almost…but then it's just the monkeys. All I can think about or see is the damned monkeys."

"Alright. Time to think about something else." Sam reached over and turned the radio on. "Perfect. _Metallica._ Always calms you down."

"Yes, th'nk you, now I'm thinkin' 'bout flyin'." Dean lowered his hand and glared, his words slipping and sliding together. "Th's s'much better!"

"So _Metallica_ only calms you down in relation to actually being _on_ a plane?"

"I dunno. Right now it does." Dean planted his hand on the seat, color draining from his face. "Flying. Oh crap. Flying."

 _Well this was going from bad to worse._

"Dean," Sam said, slowing the car and reaching over to pat his brother's chest. "Breathe, man, you're not flying. Take it easy and -"

"Sam, pull over!"

He did, half-expecting Dean to be out of the car before he even had it in park. But he didn't move from his spot, just melted into the seat. His breathing was unsteady and Sam was prepared to push him out the door if he looked like he was going to throw up. He was too tired to deal with cleaning up the car if Dean lost the battle.

Instead of throwing up, though, he grinned and said, "I remember."

"Remember what?" Sam asked, caught off guard but still prepared to get the door opened in a hurry.

"The monkeys. Why I keep thinking about 'em!"

"Why?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

"They fly."

"The monkeys?"

"The flyin' monkeys." Dean punched him weakly in the shoulder, still grinning. "Flyin' monkeys. _Wizard of Oz._ "

"Uh...yeah. Ok." Sam was relieved to have figured out where the monkeys were coming from although his mind was too sluggish to put all the pieces together.

Dean was staring at him with a _don't you know what I'm talking about_ expression.

Sam shrugged. He was too tired and it was the middle of the night and he didn't feel like playing guessing games with his brother who had nearly bled out in front of him.

"Dude." There was exasperation and amusement in his tone. " _Wizard of Oz._ Tornado. Kansas."

Ok, so now he did kind of see the connection although he wasn't anywhere near as amused as his brother was.

Dean punched him again in the shoulder and said, "We kind of lived it. Tornado. Kansas."

"Monkeys."

"Yes! Monkeys." Dean nodded, his hand flopping back onto the seat. He frowned, suddenly genuinely distressed. "Were there monkeys?"

"No. Just in your head."

Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the ceiling. He shuddered. "So real. They're s'real."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?'

"You're stoned." Sam smiled, trying to be gentle. "The monkeys aren't real."

"I _know_ that," Dean insisted, but he didn't look sure.

"You ready to go home?"

Dean nodded. "Not flyin'."

"Not flying." Sam put the car into drive. "And no monkeys."

"No monkeys," Dean mumbled to himself. He wrapped his arms around his chest and rested his head against the window again.

Sam couldn't help but smile. The day had sucked and when the painkillers wore off, Dean was going to be in a world of hurt. For now, though, he was drifting back to sleep with a smile on his face.

Probably dreaming about monkeys.

* * *

 _Good morning! Hope you enjoyed the story. I love Stoned Dean. :) Thanks for reading!_

 _Got the next chapter in final polish stage and a few other things in various stages of prep/readiness for posting._

 _Have a great day and a wonderful weekend ahead! It's almost Friday!_


	17. Chapter 17: A Most Concussed Man

**A Most Concussed Man**

 _Set just after 13.15 A Most Holy Man_

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't know what _un uomo santissimo_ meant!" Dean said as he got behind the wheel. "Dude, you've been translating that stuff since you were in kindergarten."

"You didn't exactly offer up a translation yourself." Sam shrugged, resting his arm against the door. "And it's not like it was Latin."

"No, it was Italian, which is Latin's second cousin. Or first born child. Or something." He waved a hand dismissively, then started the car. "And I didn't say anything because it's _your_ job to-"

"My job?" Sam interrupted with a smile.

"Yeah. Your job. You do the research and the translations and I do the heavy lifting."

Sam snorted.

"What?" Dean asked, glancing at him.

" _You_ do the heavy lifting? So you aren't fluent in Latin and don't know a dozen exorcisms?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"And I can't hold my own in a fight?"

"That's not what I meant." Dean shook his head as he eased the car out onto the main road. "I just meant I was surprised Father Lucca had to translate for you."

Silence.

Dean glanced at his brother again. Something was off. Reaching over, he tapped Sam's arm and asked, "Why _did_ Father Lucca have to translate for you, Sammy?"

"He didn't. I knew what it meant. I mean, I didn't know it off the top of my head. I just-"

"Just asked him what it meant. Nice try, Mr. Latin-is-the-father-of-all-modern-languages."

"It's not a big deal, ok? I've just got a headache."

Tension crept into Dean's shoulders as he asked, "A headache so bad you _forgot_ your Latin root words?"

"I didn't forget. It was just easier to ask Father Lucca."

"Mmmhmm." Dean started thinking about concussions and hospitals.

"It's just a headache. I'm fine."

"So fine you forgot how to translate."

"Dean. Seriously."

"Seriously nothing!" Dean studied the street signs. There was a hospital around here somewhere. "You should've said something."

"Say something about a headache? It's a _headache,_ not a missing limb. If we complained about every headache we experienced, that's all we'd ever talk about."

"I'm not talking about every headache, Sam. I'm talking about _this_ headache. The one you didn't tell me you _still_ have."

"I didn't say anything because it's not a big deal. But, since we're talking about it, can we _stop_ talking about it? You're making it worse."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel; there was a distinct note of stress in Sam's tone. He tried to do the math; tried to remember exactly how long it had been since he'd found his brother unconscious on the floor in the motel. Long enough, but not so long that the pain from the blow would've faded entirely; especially given the busy night they'd had. It was understandable but it didn't mean he liked it.

Sam pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Keeping his mouth shut, Dean concentrated on the road. It was a good day's drive back to the Bunker and once upon a time they probably would have muscled through in one go. He wasn't going to admit it, but making a trip like that these days was a bit more challenging than it had been when they'd been in their twenties.

Of course, even in their twenties they'd still required at least a couple hours of sleep after an all-nighter. He yawned, adjusting the visor against the sun. They'd been up all night and they _definitely_ needed a couple hours of sleep.

Sam might be insisting he was fine, but Dean had been keeping count. Five times in recent months. _Five_ times. They'd both suffered through plenty of head injuries over the years, but five in close succession wasn't anything to be taken lightly; regardless of how "fine" Sam insisted he was.

Dean wasn't taking chances.

Wasn't taking chances and didn't care about his brother's arguing and complaining and sulky capitulation. He resolutely ignored Sam and found a decent motel in a good sized town a comfortable few hours from Seattle. He might have been convinced to keep going for a little longer, except for the fact that Sam had - without trying to hide it - downed a handful of painkillers and hadn't stopped pressing his hand to his head for the past fifty miles. He was just lucky they weren't heading straight to the nearest emergency room.

Sam griped and complained the entire time they unloaded the car. He was probably _still_ complaining. Dean smiled. At least he wasn't stuck listening to it. He'd unceremoniously left his brother behind while he went to get them a late breakfast. Sam hadn't been happy about that, either. It had felt kind of wonderful to slam the door on his brother's continuing complaints even if he did feel a smidgen guilty.

The smell of egg and bacon sandwiches chased away the guilt. His sandwich didn't make it back to the motel. He'd known he was hungry, but the smell of food had reminded him exactly _how_ hungry he really was. The only thing that could have made things better would have been a cup of coffee, but since sleep was the point, he'd passed over the caffeine.

Parking the car in front of the motel room, he decided it was a good thing he'd stopped when he had. He could barely keep his eyes open and he seemed to be yawning more than he was breathing. Once he gave his brother his sandwich, Dean planned to fall into bed and sleep for the next day and a half.

Sam couldn't have been less interested in breakfast. He was face down on the bed, boots off and blanket half-heartedly pulled over him. Dean nudged the bed and received a muffled groan and an impolite hand gesture in response.

"Rude," Dean said, walking away and putting the sandwich in the fridge.

He pulled all the blinds closed, then collapsed on the other bed. As he started untying his boots, he studied his brother. He was breathing and looked comfortable even if his face was mostly buried in the pillow.

"Sam."

Silence.

Dean dropped his boot on the carpet and asked, "How bad?"

"Not even top twenty." Sam sighed, but didn't move. "Just tired."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that." Dean kicked off his other boot. "But I'm not the one who got beaned by a priest last night. You're not gonna slip into a coma while I sleep, are you?"

Sam snorted.

Dean smiled a little, despite the worry, and stripped down to his t-shirt before getting comfortable in bed.

"You better tell me now if you need a hospital. I'm not gonna be happy if you wake me up later to tell me your brain has liquefied."

"Brain's fine. Skull's intact," Sam mumbled into his pillow. "Headache is getting worse with every word you say. Shut up so I can sleep."

"Fine, fine, you big baby." Dean rolled over and snuggled a pillow closer to him.

It didn't take long before he fell asleep.

* * *

When Dean woke up, it was just after three in the afternoon. His head was muzzy - like he was hungover but without the fun of getting drunk. Stiff and sore, he rolled onto his back, wishing he was still asleep.

He glanced over at the other bed.

The sheets were mussed and the bed was empty. Dean struggled to get his uncooperative mind to work as he pushed himself upright. It wasn't unusual for Sam to be up before him; although there had been days of late where he hadn't gotten up at all. Worry was a great motivator and Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to shout his brother's name.

And then he didn't need to.

Sam was sitting on the floor between the beds, head tilted back against the nightstand. Sound asleep. Weird. And concerning.

"Sam." Dean frowned, leaning forward to tap his brother's shoulder. "Hey, wake up."

"Hmm?" Sam didn't open his eyes.

"Wake up. What are you doing on the floor?"

"Nightmare."

Dean rubbed his eyes and tried to remember anything since he'd fallen asleep. Nothing. Just a big, sleep-filled blank space. He hadn't heard anything.

Shaking his head, he asked, "Bad one?"

This time Sam tilted his head and opened bleary eyes as he said, "Wasn't me."

That was not what Dean had been expecting. He didn't remember anything of the sort. Not that it mattered when there was still something infinitely more important to be cleared up here.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"I heard you." Sam yawned, then closed his eyes again. "Sounded bad. Tried to wake you up, then I just talked to you for awhile."

While it was comforting to know his brother had been trying to help, it was embarrassing that he'd had to. Face warming, Dean asked for the third time. " _Why_ _are you on the floor?_ "

"Stayed close in case you had another one." Sam settled his arms across his chest, apparently intending to go back to sleep.

Dean wasn't having any of that, though. It was bad enough that his concussed brother had lost sleep talking him through a nightmare he didn't even remember. There was no way he was going to leave him on the floor. Leaning down, he tapped his brother's shoulder again.

"Get up."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine; you're on the floor."

"Where do you think people sat before chairs were invented?" Sam mumbled.

"Seriously?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't need, or want, a history lesson. You don't need to sleep on the floor."

"I'm not sleeping."

"Not yet, you aren't, but you're so close it isn't even funny." Dean smiled when Sam glared at him, eyes half open. "How's your head?"

Sam grimaced, apparently too tired to pretend he felt fine.

"Thought so." Dean stood up. Grabbing Sam's arms, he tugged until, reluctantly, his brother began struggling to his feet. "Time for some meds."

He waited for the expected protest, but none came. Instead, Sam grabbed his arms to steady himself as he swayed. Easing him onto the edge of the other bed, Dean kept a hand on his shoulder.

Once he was fairly certain Sam wasn't going to pass out, Dean asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Stay put."

Sam gave him a shaky thumbs up.

Dean went for the painkillers and some water from the bathroom. Returning to his brother's side, he handed him a cup of water. Sam took a cautious sip while Dean tapped out the medication. Once Sam had taken the pills, Dean sat down across from him.

"You need to eat something."

Sam sighed.

"Just give it a shot, ok? Then you can go back to sleep."

"No, let's just go," Sam said, setting the empty cup on the nightstand. "I'll eat something, but then we can leave."

"Why bother? It's pointless to leave now. We'll just have to stop again in a few hours." Dean crossed the room to heat up the breakfast sandwich. "Let's get a decent night's sleep and head out first thing in the morning."

He glanced over his shoulder while he waited on the microwave. Sam had his head cradled in his hands, but he was still sitting up. Dean knew he was making the right choice. Despite the sleep, he remained tired and obviously his brother was feeling the effects of Father Lucca's ill-advised smack to his head. The urgency was pulsing through his veins, but he knew another day wouldn't make that much of a difference in the long run.

Wouldn't do them any good to rush back to the Bunker and be too exhausted to accomplish anything.

Dean put the sandwich on a paper towel, then gave it to his brother.

"Headache any better than earlier?" he asked while Sam stared disinterestedly at the sandwich.

Sam shrugged. "About the same."

"Sorry."

"Not a big deal."

Dean disagreed but figured he might as well keep that fact to himself if he wanted his brother to get some sleep. The last thing he wanted was to start an argument. So he kept his mouth shut and putzed around the room doing a whole lot of nothing just so Sam wouldn't think he was worrying. Which, of course, he was. And Sam knew it, but since they both kept it to themselves, all was well.

Only when he heard Sam shifting on his bed did Dean turn around. Most of the sandwich was gone and Dean figured he might as well eat the rest of it since he was starving again. He sat down on his bed and munched on the sandwich while Sam made himself comfortable.

"Stop staring at me and get some more sleep," Sam mumbled, finally settling with his hand over his eyes. "I'm fine, so stop worrying."

"Stop staring and stop worrying," Dean said, crumpling the sandwich wrapper. He pitched it into the wastebasket. "You sure get bossy when you're concussed."

"I'm not concussed."

"Yes, you are. And I'm not worrying."

"Ha." Sam lowered his hand, annoyance and amusement in his eyes. "The only time in your entire life that you _haven't_ been worried about me was when you were a demon."

Dean opened his mouth to contradict, but what was the point? They both knew it was the truth.

"Ok. Yes. I'm worrying. But you _are_ concussed. _A maxime concutere homo._ Now that _is_ Latin." Dean grinned. "Translate that."

Sam snorted and closed his eyes. " _Ego vobis nocebit vos. Sit mihi somnus._ "

Dean couldn't hold back his laughter at the threat. "Alright, alright. I'll let you sleep."

" _Gratzie_."

"Now you're gonna spout Italian?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean settled back in his bed.

"Shut up or we are going to need a hospital. For you."

Dean rolled his eyes. He couldn't stop worrying. But maybe he could shut his mind down for a few hours. They were both alive and mostly healthy. They had a piece of the puzzle that would hopefully lead them to Mom and Jack.

His thoughts drifted back to Father Lucca's words.

 _I believe that all good things are God's things. And what your brother's doing, it's a good thing._

He rolled onto his side and studied Sam.

Finding their family was a good thing. Taking down monsters and bad guys was a good thing. But they'd done plenty of that over the years and the price they'd paid had been steep.

The past few months had been hard on both of them and he wasn't eager to push their luck.

He wasn't eager to push his brother.

Dean had nearly lost himself after losing their mother and Cas. He'd regained his footing, mostly. But Sam had been falling apart right in front of him for months and he'd barely caught his brother in time. He didn't know how much more disappointment and pressure _either_ of them could withstand.

 _You know it's just a hunk of bone, right?_ Dean had asked Father Lucca.

 _I do, but everyone, we all have faith in something, even if it's just "a hunk of bone."_

A Most Holy Man had traveled halfway around the world to retrieve something of great value to him and his people despite all odds. Dean wasn't even close to being a most holy man and his backup was currently a most concussed man, but somehow they were going to travel to an entirely different dimension to retrieve two people of great value to them.

Dean smiled.

He didn't have a lot of faith left these days. But he did have faith in his brother and maybe even a little in himself. It would have to be enough. It always had been.

He refused to believe otherwise.

 _The End_

* * *

 _A maxime concutere homo. =_ A most concussed man.

 _Ego vobis nocebit vos. Sit mihi somnus. =_ I will hurt you. Let me sleep.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed! I loved writing this one. I absolutely loved Father Lucca. He was such a great character and I would love to have seen him again in another episode. He was just a sweet, kind, breath of fresh air - one the boys needed badly right at that time.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading! Have a great week. :)**_


End file.
